Hallelujah
by Ms. Anthrop
Summary: Eight years after the Fall of Voldemort, a mystery illness is stalking the wizarding world. Hermione Granger was the most brilliant witch of her age until she ran away. Even in death, Severus Snape was a reviled and polarizing figure. What happens when they return to face all they left behind? EWE, SS/HG; rated M for later chapters.
1. Prologue- A Victory March

_**Disclaimer-**Alas, I do not own these lovely characters. I'm just borrowing them for a little while. Say it with me- Not mine, and no money._

_**Warnings-**This will be a longer story, and will eventually will feature lemons. If you don't like lemonade, don't take a glass._

_**A/N-**The inspiration for this story came from Jeff Buckley's wonderful cover of the Leonard Cohen song, Hallelujah. If you've been living under a rock since 1994, and somehow missed this version, get your bum over to youtube, stat._

_Ohhh, that epilogue. Such a wonderful series, and it had to be ended like that?! Our erstwhile friends, having defeated the Dark Lord simply stroll right into the sunset. They marry their high school sweethearts, have two perfect children, and nothing dark and twisty ever happens again. fin._

_Or... not. Trauma always manages to claw it's way out of the dark recesses of our minds; it will only play second fiddle to the events in our lives for so long. Trauma eventually interrupts the plot of everyday life because it doesn't fit what came before, or what happened after. It changes you in ways large and small, and it can take years to even began to detect those differences._

_How would our friends deal with all that trauma?_

_I am musical and literary nerd; you will find that many of the chapter titles are references to songs or books. Ten points if you can correctly identify the source ;)_

_Many, many thanks to Muggle Jane for beta-ing these early bits._

_Comments, questions, reviews and howlers all welcome._

* * *

_**"**__**My yesterdays walk with me. They keep step, they are gray faces that peer over my shoulder."  
― William Golding**_

_**Prologue**_

Even at half past three in the morning, the Burrow was something less than quiescent. Tucked away in an upstairs bedroom, Hermione Granger listened to the myriad sounds of the house and its inhabitants, the sighs and murmurs that fell from rafters and coalesced into the hallways to form the nightly symphony of the Weasley home.

She knew it was a cowardly and despicable thing to run away, especially after all that had happened. As she gazed down onto the soft cream of the parchment in front of her, she wondered if she would ever find the proper words to explain what she was about to do. She wondered if they'd ever be able to forgive her.

_I am so sorry_

That was it; three hours of staring at the tabletop had produced a mere four words. Never mind that in years past, a similar late night sojourn would have meant at least two full rolls of parchment, conclusions annotated and highlighted with verbose precision.

_I am so sorry_

There had been a shining golden moment in the hours after Voldemort's death where it appeared that everything was going to be fine. Her heart and mind had flared with the giddy disbelief of victory; the possibilities of the future seem to stretch out in front of them with halcyon abandon. But then, as first streaks of dawn had illuminated the shattered stained glass windows in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, it became painfully clear that whilst they had won the war, they had also lost far too many battles.

Fred. Tonks and Lupin. Colin Creevey and Lavender Brown... and Professor Snape. The list of names was long, and yet had grown yet longer still. As the overwhelming swirl of grief and sorrow from the people around her seemed to paint the very air around the castle, she had felt the first insidious trickle of ice ripple through her veins. That ice had buffered her, and allowed her press forward with the necessary tasks that happen after battle.

_I am so sorry_

As it turned it out, it may have been Voldemort's last battle, but that certainly wasn't the last fight. Not even one week later, one of the surviving Death Eaters had proclaimed himself as the new Dark Lord. Many more battles were lost. The war raged on. To her surprise, she held up well over the ensuing twelve months of fighting and three succeeding Dark Lords. As the wizarding world had fragmented into a bloody morass once again, Hermione Granger had become well-known for her glacial surety and grace under fire. Then, in a sudden and volcanic act of dark magic, someone hitherto unknown, had used the dark mark to unleash an unbridled killing curse on the remnants of Voldemort's followers. With that, the fight was truly over.

Hermione had waited, rather prudently she thought, for an additional year before returning to the small suburban Australian town where she had hidden her parents. But the town was only a shadow of what it should had been. Under a canopy of sun bleached eucalyptus trees, she had learned that two years prior, wildfires had raged through the area and killed thirty-three residents. Monica and Wendell Wilkens were among the lost. Despite her best intentions and efforts, her parents had died in fear and among flames. In that moment, the ice within Hermione had shattered with an almost audible reverberation. It had been all she could do to get back to London.

_I am so sorry_

Everyone had been so wonderfully nice to her; sympathetic and understanding and all that could be asked for under the circumstances. After all, she was not alone in her loss or in her grieving. Much to the relief of all, Hermione seemed to rally. There was talk in several wizarding papers of an impending wedding to Ronald Weasley, and of her taking a high-ranking position within Ministry.

It was all a lie. She felt like the ice running through her veins had transmogrified to minute shards of glass, and she was slowly bleeding to death from an untold number of infinitesimal, internal cuts. She knew that if she continued on much longer that she would well and truly break, and then there would be no fixing her. The only thing that she could think of was to run away.

In the ensuing weeks, she had quietly made plans; converted over her remaining money, bought several sets of Muggle identities, and sorted through her possessions to determine what she would take with her. Even with Crookshanks, it had been a small pile.

_I am so sorry_

There was nothing for it. No matter how long she sat there, the words would not come.

Slowly she got up from the table, scooped up her pack up from the floor, and headed downstairs. Twenty minutes later, a faint crack from a distant Apparition momentarily interrupted the customary night-time sounds of the Burrow. Then the wind rustled through the hedgerows, and the home's sleepy noises began again.


	2. Ch 1- Of Sharks and Men

_**Chapter One- Of Sharks and Men**_

The leaden grey of predawn made the precise arrangement of the stars somewhat hard to ascertain. However, it was the consistent motion of the waves muddling what should have been the horizon that finally rendered his celestial navigation skills moot. _Or maybe, _Severus Snape thought,_ you are several fathoms away from sober. _Still, he was fairly certain that he was bobbing somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, possibly along the coastline of Chile. As the last thing he clearly recollected was being in New Zealand, he wagered that his lack of...situational awareness...was due more to alcohol, or some other intoxicant than any sort of deteriorating mental capacity. Then again, he might have lost his mind and corresponding mental facilities. One could never tell.

With a sigh, he rolled over and began swimming back to shore.

* * *

The drying salt had just started to itch uncomfortably on Snape's skin when he heard the soft swish of footfalls coming from the sand behind him. Turning his head ever so slightly, he eyed the slowly approaching blond man.

"You certainly have a liking for swimming in shark-infested waters. Did you know that there were several circling you?" Lucius Malfoy stopped several meters short of Snape, giving him a gimlet-eyed glance as he brushed bits of sand and beach rubbish off his formerly pristine robes.

"Yes." Snape turned back toward the waves. "One bumped my foot. Twice."

"Really, Severus, you must take better care. I have no wish to sit by your hallowed deathbed a third time."

"Neither do I." Pleasantries over, both men fell silent.

Ignoring Lucius completely, Snape turned his full attention back towards the incoming tide. In the water to the left he could see several fishing boats dropping long lines; to the right and further down the shoreline, he could just make out the sounds of a dog barking amongst children's laughter. He felt... content? Shifting to get more comfortable in the sand, he took a deep breath of the swirling salt air and let his mind wander over the sensation a bit.

Upon further examination, it did indeed prove to be a feeling of contentment; whilst he was not a wholly content creature, the emotion was still stronger than his customary trio of anger, bitterness, and regret that had flourished within him for so long. He would even admit- although only to himself- that this morning, watching the rising sun shift the colour of the water from the pearlescent mercury of early dawn and to the current bright and briny beryl, that he had been glad to watch the sunrise. _Well done, that. It only took you three years to get here. Lucius was right however; given your "liking for swimming in shark-infested waters" you really are lucky to even be sitting on this precipitous shoal._

The sound of robes rippling in the breeze drew him out of his internal revelry, and he turned his head again towards the interruption. Raising a sardonic eyebrow, he stared questionably up at Lucius.

"Do you have some further inane commentary to make?" This drew a frustrated sigh from the other man.

"Are you ready to come back yet, or are we doomed to repeat this heartfelt scene again next month?" Lucius' tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Yes."

"Yes... what?" Lucius asked. "...shall we be forced to repeat this charade, or will you finally return?" Snape felt a smirk grow. How he did love nettling the man. There were distinct advantages to still being alive, although he did imagine that his shade would also be equal to the task if so impelled.

"I believe that I will return. Under one condition of course."

Lucius took a calming breath in. "Naturally. The condition?"

Snape let the smirk grow into a fully-fledged grin. "That I shall stay dead."

Glowering down at him, Lucius finally snapped, "That can be arranged." He stuck out his arm imperiously. Leveraging himself out of the damp sand, Snape grabbed the proffered arm as Lucius started to spin.

CRACK! In between moments, the beach became empty.


	3. Ch 2- A Minor Fall and A Major Lift

_**A/N- **__Many thanks to LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, Modges and Smithback for leaving my first three reviews! In particular, Modges' comments spurred on a bit of revision on a later chapter that was greatly needed. Thank you all, and please keep it up!_

_Finally, much gratitude towards my beta, Muggle Jane. _

* * *

_**Chapter 2- A Minor Fall and Major Lift**_

**_Aberystwyth, Wales- Four years later_**__

The night shifted restlessly around Hermione as she struggled to locate the keys to her flat in her purse, all whilst not dumping the two bags of groceries in her arms to the ground. Muttering soft profanities as felt the first splatters of rain hit her face, she finally found her keys in the mess of her bag and slid them into the lock. Really, she thought to herself, she had no right to grumble over the weather; she had chosen to work in this woe-begotten corner of Wales over an equally favourable post-doctoral fellowship in Spain. She could be sitting in some sun-warmed piazza sipping a good glass of sangria rather than struggling through the never ending dark and dreary winter of Aberystwyth. No use whinging over her own freely made choice.

It took a shove of her hip to get the old door open, and as she stepped across the threshold, she could feel the wind gust around her legs as if trying to pull her back into the oncoming storm. Pivoting to slide the groceries onto the side table, Hermione reached for the door just as the wind snatched it out of grasp.

BANG!

"Shit!" She took a deep breath to counter the shot of adrenaline racing through her limbs. _My goodness Granger, jumpy much? One would think that you were a Muggle with all of these histrionics. _Dropping the keys in a bowl and shrugging the bags back into her arms, Hermione started for the kitchen.

"Crooks?... Crookshanks?" she called. But if the cat was downstairs, he remained well hidden. _Good thing I picked up a can of tuna at the shop,_ she thought ruefully. If Crookshanks had been downstairs when the door slammed, it was going to take some serious coaxing to get him to come out and be social. The cold and damp of Aberystwyth appealed to him about as much as it did to her, and in a temper over being startled, he'd be even less amenable.

Hermione flipped the light to the kitchen on and began pulling items from the bags. Cheese and eggs went into the fridge; bread and cereal disappeared into the cupboard. As she reached for the bottle of red wine, she realized that her left arm was still... tingly. _Oh no, not again_ she prayed. _Let it be something else... the pressure from carrying the groceries perhaps?_ But as she stared at her arm in hopeful disbelief, she felt the tingle transform into a familiar burn, followed by the immediate rolling waves of tremors that chased the burn up past her elbow, and into her shoulder and chest. Forcing her head up and around, she started aiming her body for one of the kitchen chairs. The cool kitchen air suddenly seemed to be made of molasses for all of the effort that it took to move her legs, and the light... well she didn't think that it was actually pulsing in a horrible parody of a strobe light. _Too late... _she thought as the kitchen floor seemed swim up towards her face _...this is going to be messy. _

* * *

Sound came back to her first; the steady tick of the kitchen clock and the heady rumble of a cat purring. Slowly, the world unfolded around her as her sluggish brain responded to requests for information. The purring strongly suggested that the heavy pressure on her chest came from the cat, not an injury. That was... encouraging. That noted, she recognized hadn't gotten off scot-free. There were cuts on her backside as well as her legs, and her head throbbed mercilessly. Hermione could not only taste blood, but smelled the coppery tang of it melding with red wine. _So I dropped the bottle then. At least it wasn't the eggs. _Inhaling cautiously, she relaxed as all her nose detected was the blood and wine. _And I didn't wet myself. Another good point_. There had been that time, at university, when she hadn't been that lucky... Cracking her eyes open, she found herself on her back in the middle kitchen; she could still see her legs twitching slightly, as if dancing to the earlier wind. Looking down again, she saw large green eyes peering at her from a tangle of ginger fur located on the middle of her chest. She stretched her hand out to the cat, resting her hand on his silky coat.

"Well fur-face... I've gone and done it this time, haven't I?" Easing onto one elbow, she looked at the mess around her. She had knocked over the chair, but thankfully the second bag from the shop had been left untouched on the counter. All and all, the physical damage wasn't bad.

Mentally, however... a cold sense of forbidding replaced the lingering burn in her muscles. Even she had to admit that it was getting worse. Numbly, she heaved herself all the way up, and pushed Crookshanks to her lap.

"I think it's time we find some answers." If anything, the cat's purr seemed to grow louder. "Let's just hope I know what to do with them."

* * *

It had taken almost four hours to get herself off the floor, get cleaned up, and into bed. She'd had several small attacks of tremors in the process; not enough to cause her to pass out, but enough that she was afraid of falling and really hurting herself. When Hermione had finally awoken the next morning, some time past 10, it was to bright sunlight streaming in her bedroom window.

Stroking Crookshanks, she had made a mental list of her options. _Option A: Continue to Ignore the Problem. _She had done so for the last three years with some success. The attacks, or spells, or whatever they were hadn't prevented her from finishing her doctorate in library sciences, nor did they impact her job. She felt relatively sure that she could continue on for some time yet before her hand was forced.

_Option B: Go Back To The Muggle Doctors._ Once- thank god- only once had she experienced an attack in public. It had happened shortly after presenting her viva voce, in the office of her departmental chair. The incident had been bad enough that she'd not been able to prevent them from taking her to hospital, and but the doctors had been able to do little other than recommend a battery of comprehensive tests. She wasn't sure if Muggle medicine could find or fix what was wrong with with her, but it might be worth thinking about. She had some ideas about combining Muggle medication with magic...

_Option C: Get Magical Help. _As far as she could tell, none of her magical ability had disappeared. She'd wondered after her first attack if the problem might stem from not using her magic. With some caution, she had started to use little bits of magic, mostly non-verbal. It hadn't made any difference, but it'd come as relief that she hadn't reduced herself to a squib.

_You could go back. They might not forgive you, but they will help you. Were you really planning to hide away as a Muggle forever? _

The thought of going back to the Burrow, to her friends, to everything from before made her feel queasy. She shifted restlessly on her bed; Crookshanks nudged at her hand, and she resumed stroking his fur.

She knew now, with the hindsight of almost eight years, that leaving had been the only thing keeping her from completely breaking down. _But would that have been such a horrible thing? Would that have been as bad as cutting off the people you loved most in the world? _

_There is no use trying to answer that question. You can't change it at this late stage anyhow. What really matters is determining if you want to go back now, illness or no. _The faces of her friends slid through her mind; Harry, absent-mindedly pushing his glasses up his nose while working on homework in the Gryffindor common room. Ginny's sharp grin as she magically threw peas at the back of Percy's head, and Ron, exultantly swooping to the ground after a last minute Quidditch victory.

_Yes. I want to go back. And if... and if they all hate me, I don't have to stay. _

Mind made up, she decided to leave the following morning. She could Apparate to London... at least she thought she could. _ That's not the best idea. It's been long enough that you'd probably splinch yourself royally. _Instead, she decided to take the train to London and see if she could find one of the Weasleys at the joke shop. If she couldn't find anyone, she could send an owl from the Leaky Cauldron asking for a meeting.

* * *

Sunday also dawned bright and clear, and the countryside rolling by the train was pleasantly lush and green. The familiar rhythm of locomotion lured her into a half-doze, and she found her mind wandering back to that last night in the Burrow.

Rucksack on back, and Crookshank's cage in hand, Hermione had paused in the dark warmth of the Weasley's living room. Something niggled at her senses. Turning, she peered into the shadows of the far back corner.

"Lumos," said a tired male voice. The pale light illuminated the worn face of Arthur Weasley, long since stripped of any of the bumbling joy that she'd long associated him with.

"You've decided to leave?" Unable to say anything, she'd nodded once, incapable of meeting his gaze. Hermione had stared at her feet for a long moment until the rustle of robes had caused her to look up. Arthur stood before her, hand outstretched as if he wanted to touch her.

Dropping his hand, Arthur had taken a breath in and started speaking, "Hermione... please let me help. I know you can't stay here." His blue eyes, so like Ron's had gone misty, and he'd blinked a few times to clear them. "Molly and I... we've already lost one child. I don't think we could take losing another. Please. Let me help."

"I can get you better Muggle identities through the Ministry, get you set up somewhere safe. I wont tell anyone where you've gone if that's what you want. Just let me help... I'm begging you, Hermione."

She'd almost bit through her lip to keep herself from breaking down and crying. Not trusting her voice, she has resorted to nodding again. With that, Arthur had escorted her outside and down the path. They had Apparated to a Ministry safe house, where she sat numbly for three days as he sorted the various issues of disappearance out.

On the third day, he'd returned with a large stack of papers- birth records, school transcripts, everything a normal twenty-year old Muggle would have. After going through the papers, he pulled a small, pale crystal charm on a chain out his pocket.

Handing it to her, he said, "This was my Grandmother's. After Grandfather's death, she decide to travel... so one of my Uncles made it for her. It has some basic safety charms. Molly has the other half." Looking steadily at her, he continued, "It's also charmed to tell if the wearer is safe or not. It wont be able to tell us where you are, but we'll at least know if you are alright."

She'd worn it everyday since. Pulling out from under her collar, she examined the sparkling prism. The colours shifted mutely under her appraisal; a faint pink when closest to her skin, darkening with blue tones the longer she held it away. _Please, please don't hate me..._

It took five hours and a train change in Birmingham before she got to London; once there, Hermione decided to walk all the way to the Leaky Cauldron in hopes of calming her nerves. It didn't work. Standing at the brick wall that would open up onto Diagon Alley, she felt as if her guts were being squeezed, as if going through side-along Apparition.

Suddenly, the back door to the Leaky Cauldron banged open, and middle-aged witch with two children appeared. Smiling maternally at Hermione, the witch asked, "Forget which brick, dearie? Here we are, nothing to get worked up over!" Tapping, she opened the wall.

With a creak and rumble, the archway opened. "Come along now, don't dawdle. We wouldn't want it to close on you, would we my dear?"

"Uhh, no. Thank you." The witch gave Hermione a glance as she stepped through.

"Now, do you know where you are going? Need any help finding a shop?"

"No, thank you. I know where I'm going."

Giving her a final pat, the woman smiled and started tugging her children down the street. Mechanically, Hermione started to follow. _Breath, don't panic. _

Several minutes later, she found herself in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The shop looked much as she'd first seen it, complete with a rather flamboyant front window ad for "Fire Farts Tablets! See how many colours you can produce!"

Pushing her way through the front door, she looked around for a clerk. Finally spotting one restocking a shelf, she walked over to him.

"Can I help you, ma'm?"

"Yes, I was looking for George Weasley. I'm an old friend. Is he in by chance?"

The clerk- a spotty-faced teenager she didn't recognise- gave her a sceptical look. "A friend you say?"

"Yes," she said mustering every bit of professorial gravitas she could manage. "He said he would be here today." _Don't let it be a lie... I don't think I can do this again!_

Apparently, her expression worked._"_Yeah, he's in his office. Through that door, to the right, give it a good knock." Turning away, he resumed stocking the half-empty shelf. Wading through the masses of customers, she made her way to the back hallway. Finding the correct door, she gave it a rap with a shaking hand.

"It's open!" yelled a familiar voice. Cracking the door open hesitantly, Hermione stuck her head in.

George looked up from a desk piled high with paperwork. For a second his face went totally blank before his jaw dropped open.

"Blimey... Hermione, is that really you?" In a second, he leapt from the desk and opened the door wide. Sweeping her into a strong hug, he looked down at her.

"Come on in, then." Pulling her into the office, he shut the door.

"Hello, George," she said a little weakly. "How are you?"

"Good, fine... Hermione, we thought we'd never see you again. Where have you..." he stopped, grin fading a bit. "Never mind. Not my business. Are you okay? Do you need something?"

"I'm... alright, well, sort of. That's why I'm here. I need to talk with your Dad about something. And..." taking a deep breath she continued. "I'll explain the rest later, I promise."

"Right then. Well, grab a seat. I'll send an owl for Dad. It shouldn't take too long, he's just over at the Ministry." Removing a stack of reports off a chair, he motioned her to sit.

Grabbing a quill and parchment, George looked up at her. "Is there anything you want me to say in particular? Or do you just want to explain it when he gets here?"

Quashing her sense of unease she said, "I've been... sick recently. And, well, it's gotten a bit worse."

"Wait... it's not a neural-musculature complaint is it?" Now it was her turn to stare in shock.

"George, how did you know? How do you even know what that word means?" She flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that's a Muggle phrase and..."

George laughed. "I know... it's okay. I dated a Muggle paramedic for awhile. She ah... taught me a few things. " His face turned serious. "But seriously Hermione, is it a muscle thing? And you've had seizures?"

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"'Cause you aren't the only one having issues. Most of the people who got cursed by Dark magic during the second war with Voldemort are having problems. Mostly, it's little stuff, but not always."

"Oh." Hermione felt a sense of mingled sense of relief and unease spread over her. "So if I'm not the only one, the Healers know how to treat it, right?"

George looked away, and rubbed his face. "Well, no, not really. There are things that can help... but they don't really know how to fix it. Listen, you better just talk to Dad about it. He'll be able to explain better. And maybe..." He paused, looking at her appraisingly. "Hermione, how long do you plan to be back? There's some other people you should probably talk to, like Minerva McGonagall. She's leading a research team based out of Hogwarts. And, well, I know everyone will want to see you..." His voice trailed off.

"I don't know, George. A couple of weeks at least. And... I do want to see people. If they still want to see me." She looked at him, trying to guess how the others might feel based on his expression.

"Of course they will want to see you! Let's get this note sent to Dad, and then will get the rest figured out, alright?"

"Alright." George finished scribbling out a note. "Be right back. Have a cup of tea." He pointed to pot on the corner of the desk. Waving his wand, he summoned a second cup for her.

"Ha. Like I would ever drink something that you offered me," Hermione said, hoping he'd find the joke funny.

Pouring tea into the cup, he took a sip. "See, safe. Come on, Hermione, I wouldn't do that to you on your first day back. Tomorrow, however..." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows threateningly, handed her the cup, and made for the door. "I'm glad you came back, Hermione. For whatever reason, I'm glad." With that, he disappeared down the hall.

* * *

The next several hours were a blur. Arthur Weasley had come straight over from the Ministry, and the three of them had Apparated to the Burrow. Upon seeing her enter the kitchen, Molly Weasley had burst into tears. She found herself wrapped up in the woman's arms, sobbing as well, unable to say anything other than, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Tumult over and feeling dazed, she sat in an overstuffed floral-print chair, clutching a mug full of firewhiskey. Arthur and George sat to her right in similar chairs, and Molly was perched on the armchair next to her, hand comfortingly stroking her shoulder as she explained why she'd come back.

"I'm so sorry," she said, for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Nevermind all of that. What matters is that you've come back. The rest... well, we will deal with it as it comes." Molly Weasley looked over at Arthur. "What do you think the first order of business should be, dear?"

He thought for a bit before replying. "With your permission, Hermione, I'll send an owl to Minerva. She'll know who we need to talk to at St. Mungo's." Taking a sip of his own drink, he went on. "Where are you staying?"

"I... I hadn't thought that far ahead, not really. I live in Wales now, not London..." she trailed off awkwardly.

"You'll stay here, then." Molly stopped for a moment. "That is, if you'd like to."

"Yes, I would." Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears again. "I'd like that very much. But what about everyone else?'

"What do you mean, dear?" Molly asked

George stepped in. "We've all moved out, Hermione. Poor Mum has quite the empty nest." He shot his mother a smile. "Bill, Percy, and I live in London of course, and Charlie is in France at the moment. Ginny and Harry are in Edinburgh with Aurors, and Ron's in America, playing Quidditch. No worries about not having enough space now."

"Oh." Hermione blinked, not quite sure how to respond to the information. She knew that she'd been gone a long time, and that things were bound to change, but still, she'd not given thought to how much things would have moved on. Regrouping for second, she went on. "I'd like to talk to Professor McGonagall if that's possible. Beyond that... I do want to see everyone. I'm just.." she paused, groping for words. "Well, I'm nervous about seeing everyone, that's all."

"Arthur, why don't you send that owl to Minerva. Ask her to breakfast tomorrow. It's been a long day for us all, and there's no need to jam it all in the very day of your return. We'll send out owls to everyone else tomorrow. Can you stay for a couple of days, dear?" Molly asked.

"Yes, I have a couple of weeks off. The team I work for is giving a lecture series at a university in Germany, and I asked for some time to deal with this."

"Well then, why don't we work on dinner, and you can tell me all about your job. George," Molly turned to address her son, "...are you staying for supper?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Mum." With the details settled to her satisfaction, Molly rose from the chair, and offered Hermione a hand up.

"Now, I must warn you, the ghoul has been all sorts of trouble lately..."


	4. Ch 3- All That You Can't Leave Behind

_**Chapter Three- All That You Can't Leave Behind**_

_**Somewhere near Manchester**_

On the whole, it had been a peaceful- if not content- four years for Severus Snape. He had, much to his surprise, even experienced a vestigial emotion he tentatively identified as happiness. He lived on the fringes of both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, working anonymously and carefully under several unexceptional identities. Lucius had acquired a small stone cottage for his use, and Snape had slowly cobbled together a functional laboratory and library in the cellar. He survived rather nicely off the sale of not-quite-illegal potions and herbal tisanes. When the whim suited him, he published on a rather eclectic spectrum of research.

Still, Snape knew that his peace was a fragile one. Nightmares and stretches of insomnia were constant companions; moreover the years of stress and torture had left him with a rather extensive laundry list of physical and mental aliments that four years of expert potion making had hardly made a dent in. When he chose to think on his past- a very infrequent occurrence- it left him bitter and drained for days. Should he go so far as to dwell on certain aspects of his personal history... well, he really didn't fancy repairing and replacing his entire cellar accoutrement for a third time due to ill-placed rage.

_That's right, Severus...let the past slide away from you like so many grains of sand. Live only in the moment; take refuge in the zen path... Right. Bloody fat chance of that. _Snorting softly to himself, he continued to stir a large bronze cauldron. Intently, he watched for the change of colour that would indicate that it was time to add the pickled heartsthorne. As the potion grudgingly shifted from a pale lilac to a robust violet, he felt his personal wards flicker as someone approached the cottage. _Wonderful timing as always,_ and flicked a stasis charm over the brew. _Wait for it... _the strident tones of his doorbell echoed down the stairs. _I wonder if he understands the significance of using the Imperial March as the tune. Hmmm, probably not. Perhaps I should change it to the Jaws theme? _The doorbell started up again, and he could practically feel Lucius' impatience at being kept waiting. _Alas, I think even that simple Muggle joke is beyond him._

Shucking off a dragon skin apron, he strode up the narrow stairs and into the lounge. Opening the front door, he smiled unpleasantly at his visitor.

"What a welcome surprise, Lucius. Given that you last visited this humble abode not two weeks ago, I am overwhelmed that you have chosen to once again grace me with your august presence."

The man glowered back at him, hand tightening on his ebony cane. "Are you quite done, Severus?"

"Would you like me to be?" He drawled in response.

"Are you going to invite me in, or must we conduct this... discussion... outside?"

Stepping back, Snape gracefully motioned his guest inside. "By all means, Lucius, please do come inside. May I offer you a cup of tea on this fine and blustery day?"

Brushing past him to enter the cottage, Lucius bit out, "No." Eying the sofa with some distaste, he finally settled on a somewhat less shabby end chair. He sat down with a maximum flourish of robes. Shutting the door, Snape followed the man, but rather than sit, chose to stand in front of the stone fireplace. Any discomfort standing created was far outweighed in the joy of looking down on upon Lucius Malfoy. They eyed each other in disagreeable silence.

"As you came here rather than simply send an owl, I imagine that you need something of great importance?" Snape inquired, noting the small signs of disarray on the man. His normally perfect hair was in need of a wash, as well as a good brush. He also looked as if he'd not slept recently, and several buttons on the man's sleeves were missing. Interesting. Or not.

Lucius closed his eyes briefly. "Draco is in St. Mungo's."

"Again? How many times now is it?"

"This is the forth time... since January." Lucius tone was flat. "There also have been smaller attacks that did not necessitate being under a Healer's care."

Snape's smile took on a merciless gleam. "And to think, we've not even reached the Ides of March yet. What a pity. Have the healers been able to determine what the overriding issue is?"

"They think it pertains to the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse, among others."

"Have any of the potions I've supplied you with helped?" Snape leaned back on his heels slightly, feeling a only muted sense of concern.

"They have... assisted in Draco's recovery between bouts, but have not lessened the effects of the fits, nor decreased the number of occurrences." Lucius paused. Settling slightly into the chair, he continued. "Draco is not the only one suffering thusly. Several other people of mutual acquaintance are also being treated at St. Mungo's."

"And why, pray tell, are you providing me this vital information?" _As if I give single whit for any of our former acquaintances..._

"I want you to come to London and examine Draco. I will not lose the boy as I lost his mother." Lucius had abruptly gone white, and anger now tinged his tone.

"Absolutely out of the question."

"You owe the boy. Should you choose to remember it, he is still your godson, and he saved your life!" The last came out as a roar; Lucius worked visibly to lower his voice. "Hellfire, you still owe me when it comes to it!"

"He may have done, but that fortuitous accident only occurred after I'd rescued his skinny rump from Voldemort- several times over!" Snape felt his own temper rising. Dark eyes snapping, he hissed, "Draco found me by chance, while he was trying to make his escape. It's not as if he risked life and limb on a grand recovery mission. I'll not endanger everything now on the off chance I can help him."

"You selfish bastard!" Lucius rose and stepped closer to Snape. "Is your anonymity and simple life so precious that you'd risk Draco's life? I gave you all of this!" His arms shot out to encompass the house. "With a well placed word, I can destroy it!" The air around the two men crackled with fury.

"When have I acted anything other than the selfish bastard, Malfoy?" he taunted the man. "And you dare threaten me? You dare insinuate that I owe you something?" Snape uttered a short laugh, working hard to control his fury. "There are three people alive on this earth who carry the Dark Mark... myself," he pushed up a sleeve to reveal the fading tattoo. "You. Your son. I spared you. By my account, you still owe me." Almost breathless with rage he went on. "Bring the boy here if you so wish. If not, send me his medical records from St. Mungo's. I will do what I can, but I will not risk my freedom and peace of mind on a fool's errand!"

Glaring at him with impotent anger, Lucius swiftly moved to the door and flung it open. Turning around to face Snape, his fingers tapped restlessly on his cane. "I doubt the secret of your miraculous survival will survive much longer." Snape felt his heart dropped suddenly. Trying to mask the reaction, he pushed himself of the stonework of the fireplace. Lucius continued.

"I ran into the sainted Headmistress McGonagall at St. Mungo's. Some of her precious cubs are also in residence." Jeering slightly, he went on. "She had some rather pointed questions about the identity behind a certain potion maker that is becoming rather well known amongst the better connected..." He stopped, enjoying Snape's discomfort. "She knows full well that you are alive. Among other things, your portrait has yet to appear in her office. And if you think that she will leave any stones unturned in finding a solution for what ails her blasted students, then you are more the fool than I thought!" With that parting shot, Lucius Malfoy stepped over the threshold, spun and Disapparated from the porch.

Dimly, as his sight filmed over with red, Snape heard the distinctive chime of the front window breaking. _Ah yes, Severus... you always were good at following the zen path!_

* * *

It took several minutes to master his temper; by the time he had done, the chair where Lucius Malfoy had been sitting in looked rather... singed, but still usable.

Joints in back and right knee popping, he shambled over to the hallway and entered the lone bedroom. Easing himself down onto the bed, he stared tiredly up at the ceiling.

_So... Draco is getting worse,_ he mused. _Little surprise, given how quickly Narcissa went. And, truth be told, how you feel after particular days. _Relaxing further into the mattress, he thought about the boy- well man, after so many years- and of debts owed.

He had not thought to survive the final confrontation with Voldemort. Hadn't wanted to, especially when he was bleeding to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, Nagini's venom racing through his blood like Fiendfyre. After twenty years as double agent, pacing the tightrope between two equally egocentric and Machiavellian masters, death seemed like a welcome kindness. Not that he had many memories of kindness and softness to pull from; it was not as if his public behaviour warranted any such favourable treatment.

He did have a rather strong code of ethics that he operated under, although few people recognized it under all of the sarcasm and bitterness. That last year at Hogwarts had shredded what little self respect he'd been able to muster... _better not think on that, old man. Do you really want to see the faces of the students you tortured in your dreams? Students who, in all likelihood are still paying for others' delusions of grandeur?_

Bitterly, he pushed that set of thoughts away, returning instead to that last night. It had been purely an accident that allowed for his continued existence after Voldemort's last stand. He had planned ahead somewhat by placing an anti-venom and several healing draughts in his robes; not for survival per say, but more as insurance to make sure that he could influence the final battle to his liking. Not that Potter and Granger had bothered to look for such items. _No they just had to stand there, mouths agape and letting their ruddy Gryffindor emotions run riot all over their blessed little faces. _He was fairly sure that he had actually died on that floor. At the very least, he had gone into a deep coma, and it was the unwelcome, pale-faced ferret Draco that had greeted him upon waking in a secure wing of the Malfoy Manor. The next several weeks had been touch and go as his body and fought the effects of the venom and blood loss. He had lost all of his hair, and what little body fat he possessed melted away. _You looked rather like the Dark Lord for awhile. Pity you were good for little else._

The Malfoy's defection had not gone unnoticed amongst the remaining Death Eaters. Six months after the death of Voldemort, a group led be the first... or was it second? Pretender to the throne had attacked the estate. He had been safe in a secret kept room, but had the overwhelming pleasure of listening to Narcissa Malfoy being tortured for three days until he could figure out how to escape his room and mount an attack. That little bit of quixotic stupidity had set his recovery back a full half year.

It was by Narcissa's death bed that he learned just how futile his many years of sacrifice had been. Yes, He-Who-Was-A-Deluded-Blowhard was dead, but it was if the wizarding world was playing a demented game of whack-a-mole. Chop one head off, others appeared. He had sat, holding a dead woman's cooling hand as rage and bitterness created a caustic and powerful brew in his belly. The plan had come to him finally as dawn had broke over the house.

He understood the fundamentals behind the magic of the Dark Mark from when it had been placed on him and others. He had known of it's ability to link people together, had a rough knowledge of what a blood curse added to strong intent might be capable of. Merlin knew he had enough strength of mind to put toward the intent part of the equation; it had taken three additional weeks of scrounging through the Malfoy's admittedly impressive Dark archive to find the answers he needed.

Once again, he had fully meant to die, but this time to take all who carried the Dark Mark with him. Using the last of his life's blood as the geas he had unleashed a powerful incantation onto his Dark Mark. With every fibre in in battered and bitter soul, he wished it all over: wished them all dead. Once more, he woke up alive. _Your own personal groundhog day! Wasn't that a nasty surprise..._ Although he'd never admit it to Lucius, he had been shocked to find the two Malfoys enjoying a similar state of corporal wellbeing.

In the dead of the following evening, he had pilfered a small sack of gold, and left the house. At first, he had stuck to the safe bolt holes holes he had created over the years. As his health gradually returned he began to travel further and test his tethers. It had been in a raucous and befouled dive bar, somewhere in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro that Lucius had found him.

He had been so completely pissed, working off a rather epic Carnival inspired bender, that at first he doubted the veracity of what he eyes were showing him. Lucius Malfoy had strode into the bar looking like an incongruously battered and fallen angel. Eying the surroundings with clear contempt, he asked, "Are you quite finished?"

Offering the man a filthy glass of what passed for cachaça, Snape had merely smiled and said, "No, I believe not." Lucius had glared at him for a heartbeat, dropped a bag of gold at his feet and left in swirl of disgust.

A month later, Lucius had found him again, this time eating a sweat-inducing bowl of laksa at curbside restaurant in Kuala Lumpur. His question, and Snape's response had been the same. After that meeting it had become a game; drag Lucius Malfoy to the most humiliating and uncomfortable places he could devise. _The Turkish Hamam was rather inspired... but the look on Malfoy's face as he waded through the shit to reach the poker table in the Parisian Sewer was, perhaps, one of your finer moments._ Despite what the elder Malfoy thought, he had not in fact spent all of his time in drunken debauchery. There had been a considerable amount of time spent in solitary contemplation, trying to wrest out the few shards of human that remained in his soul; trying to find a reason to continue on.

Abruptly, he stomach gave an irritated rumble. _Eat_, he thought. _Then repair the damage to the cottage and finish your potion. That stasis charm will only hold so long._ Rolling off the bed, he made for the kitchen. _No sense worrying over the long gone past, and working yourself into a lather over what's to come... Alas however, that damn man is right. If Minerva has finally started poking around, your time here is probably limited. Best start making plans. You can wait to be found, or you can arrange the finding to your choosing._ Lighting the hob, Severus Snape started to make supper.

* * *

_**A/N-**_Again, thanks to my beta, Muggle Jane.


	5. Chapter 4- Hungry Heart

_**A/N- **As always, not mine and making no money. If only..._

* * *

_**Chapter 5- Hungry Heart **_

Dinner was a calm, if not surreal affair at the Burrow. The conversation and company were much as they always had been; in some ways it was as if no time had passed. They all carefully avoided several topics- namely her reason for leaving, as well as her impetus in returning. To her relief, she fell asleep quickly and woke up only when Molly knocked on the door the next morning.

"Hermione, dear, it's time to wake up. Breakfast is on, and the Headmistress will be here soon." Sitting up, Hermione pushed the hair out of her face and started to dress. Looking around Ginny's old room, she was once again struck at how little had changed. Thanks to Mrs. Weasley, she knew the basics: Ginny and Harry had gotten married several years before, and both worked as Aurors.

The Headmistress was sitting in the kitchen, sipping tea with Mrs. Weasley when she walked in. Hermione was startled at the changes in McGonagall. Her hair had gone completely white, rather than silver, and she had far more wrinkles. For the first time, she looked... old, rather than merely formidable. Still, her posture was ramrod straight, and when her old professor turned her sharp gaze on to her, it still provoked a instant response to straighten up.

"Miss Granger, it is lovely to have you back."

"Thank you Headmistress." Silence fell in the kitchen, interrupted only by the sound of bacon frying. "Uh, how are things at Hogwarts?"

The Headmistress smiled. "Much as you'd recognise. We still have fewer students then in years past, but other than that, we find ourselves on an even keel. Molly mentioned that you work at a university in Wales?"

"Yes, I am a research librarian for small neural-biology department at Aberystwyth. I manage their collection, and do literature reviews and such for three of the professors. I also help out by teaching some of the lower-level lecture sections. I like it very much." Again, an uncomfortable pause filled the room. Before Hermione could think of a follow-up question to ask, Arthur and George Weasley entered the kitchen from the garden. Greeting the Headmistress in turn, both men sat down at the table.

Conversation remained scarce as breakfast was eaten; as Mrs. Weasley whisked the dirty plates away, Minerva McGonagall turned turned to Hermione, "Now, I understand that you have been experiencing some health issues?"

For the next twenty minutes, the Headmistress questioned Hermione about her symptoms and their severity. Hermione told her about her continuing balance issues, bouts of numbness in her limbs, and finally the three seizures that had alarmed her the most. Clearly coming to a conclusion, McGonagall said, "It does appear that what you've been experiencing fits the same condition as the rest. Tell me, were the Muggle doctors any help?"

"They weren't able to tell me what was wrong, no. But some of the medications they prescribed did help to alleviate a few of the the lingering symptoms. I think in order to truly treat the problem, the Muggle medicine will have to be combined with magic. I've done some research on the medication that helped me the most, and have some ideas, but the potion making is far beyond anything I can do. Mr. Weasley mentioned that you are leading a research project dealing with the illness?"

"Yes, of sorts. Madame Pomfrey was the first to theorize that the spectrum of health issues that students were facing were connected by their activities in the Second War- namely that all had been tortured with one of the Unforgivables. It took quite a bit of time for the Ministry to accept those findings. Once they did, however, extra funding was provided to St. Mungo's and several other research institutions to find a cure. I help to administrate and coordinate the various projects."

"Are any of the groups studying Muggle medicines?" Hermione asked.

"No, we don't really have anyone with enough of a background to do it safely. Given the complexity of Muggle medicines, and how they can react violently to even the most common of healing potions, it was deemed too unsafe to start experimenting with them. However, if you have had some luck with them, it might be prudent to open that line of inquiry again. Precisely how much research have you done?"

"Mostly theoretical. The lab that I work in does a bit a research into alternate treatments for Muggle diseases like epilepsy and multiple sclerosis, so I've been able to use that as a jumping-off point for treating my own symptoms. I don't have any potions equipment anymore, so I've not tried to combine anything with magic."

The Headmistress looked thoughtful for a moment. "There are several Healers at St Mungo's that I'd like you to speak with. If there is any help to be had, we should be using it, Muggle or no." She paused, eyeing Hermione with familiar intensity. "Hermione, are you planning on re-entering the magical world? Or is this just a visit?"

Hermione felt her face flush red with shame. "I don't know yet. I have a life in the Muggle world... and despite everything, I'm happy there." Looking at the carefully blank faces of the Weasleys, she went on. "I'm not planning on disappearing again, if that's what you are asking. I'd like to have my friends back. I'd like to be able to have a past again. But I don't know if I'll ever come back... not fully at least."

McGonagall gave a sharp nod. "Fair enough for now. If we were able to get you some laboratory space, would you be willing to test out some of your ideas?"

"I... well yes, of course. I would need help though. I haven't done any potions work in ages. Is there anyone that has any sort of background in Muggle chemistry, or medicine that I could work with?"

Shaking her head regretfully, McGonagall replied, "Not anyone with enough background to speak of..."

"What about that mail order potion maker, Simon Janus?" George interrupted. "He's worked as a consultant for us on several rather complicated healing potions that were based on Muggle medications. He's clearly got some sort of science background, and he's a damn fine potion maker."

McGonagall and Mr. Weasley traded a long look. Turning to George, she asked, "George, have you met the man?"

"Nope. We did everything by owl, or email. He works somewhere outside of Manchester, I know that much."

"You have email?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"I'm even on Facebook." George smirked. "Really Hermione, I'm not just a wizard, I'm a businessman. Email can be dead handy sometimes."

"More to the point George, do you think the man... Mr Janus, would be willing to lend a hand?" McGonagall leaned forward as she spoke.

"For the right price, sure. I can send a letter if you'd like." George shrugged. "Listen, I've never met the man, but I know of a good dozen people who have worked with him as an consultant, and he knows his stuff. If St. Mungo's doesn't have anyone who has the background that Hermione needs, then why not use him?"

McGonagall looked at Hermione questioningly. Hesitantly, Hermione said, "I think that would work. It'll take a couple of months to even get beyond the planning stages, anyway. Perhaps by then we can find someone else to work with."

"Very well. Hermione, I will arrange for you to meet with the Healers in the next several days. Send me a proposal of what you'd like to try, and we will go over some protocols. I will also send you copies of St. Mungo's findings. George, if you would send a letter to Mr. Janus, I would appreciate it." With that, she got up from the table. "Molly, thank you for the breakfast. I must return to Hogwarts. If you have any other questions, let me know."

After the Headmistress left, Hermione went out for a walk in the garden to clear her head. Molly joined her a short time later, clearly intent on having a serious conversation.

"Hermione, Arthur and I need to know how you'd like us to handle all of this. I don't want anyone to find out that you've come back via the Daily Prophet; if you are serious about wanting to patch things up, it's better to start working things out now." Taking a breath, she continued. "Would you like me to send owls to Ron, Ginny, and Harry letting them know that you are here?"

Feeling her stomach twist, she shook her head. "No. It would be easier, but I've got to do it. I'm just... I'm terrified, I guess. I'm afraid of them being angry- I deserve it, I should have at least explained things better- but I just couldn't find the words then. I'm not sure that I can explain why I left now. I just had to... " Feeling tears starting to run down her face, Hermione wiped them away with a sleeve.

Mrs Weasley looked at Hermione with some sympathy. "They will be mad at you. Leaving the way you did caused quite a few problems for all of us. More than that, it broke their hearts because they felt like you didn't trust them to help you with a problem." She sighed, "But you weren't the only one that went a little crazy Hermione. Almost everyone had one problem or another. You weren't the only one to run from it all. Even Arthur and I had a rough patch. Now, I don't know if you can fix things. I will say that for our part, Arthur and I are just happy to have you back."

She leaned over and gave Hermione a tight hug. Straightening up, she summoned paper and quill. "Write the notes. Get the worst of over, and then you can properly relax. The stress..." She smiled weakly. "...well, it can't be good for you."

* * *

George left for London, and Hermione spent the rest of the day in Ginny's old room, writing out the letters. Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had just sat down to dinner when the door banged open to reveal Ron, Ginny and Harry in equal states of dishevelment.

Every muscle in her body tensed, and it was all she could do to not run from the table. Mr. Weasley stood up abruptly. "Why don't you all go into the lounge? You might as well have an uncomfortable discussion where the chairs are soft," he said. Hermione rose with shaking knees, making her way to the doorway. Mr. Weasley spoke again, tone surprisingly firm. "Ronald, Ginevra- remember what I told you." He gestured the three at the door in.

Walking into the lounge, Hermione struggled to corral her thoughts into order. She sat herself carefully into an overstuffed chair, hands clenching spasmodically in her lap. Raising her head to look at her friends, she was rendered still by the changes. Ron and Harry had lost what little childish softness had remained in their faces and forms at twenty; whilst Harry was still on the skinny side, Ron had quite a lot more muscles than she recalled. Ginny on the other hand... she looked...

"Ginny, you're pregnant!" The words fell out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop them. Ginny looked back her, lips pursing in a manner that reminded her of Mrs. Weasley in a snit.

"Yes, I'm due in several months." Her voice was hard. Harry put a comforting- or perhaps restraining- hand on her leg.

"Do you... do you have any other children?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry answered. "This will be our first." He looked over at Ginny, smiling. She relaxed slightly under his warm gaze.

"Do you?" Ron's voice came out of the corner, startling her.

"No, of course not. I'm single..." she trailed off, not really wanting to ask the expected follow-up. Looking up at Ron, she asked, "What about you?"

"No kids. I'm not single though. I live with an American witch."

"Oh. I'm glad to hear of it." Feeling her face once again flush, she struggled to say something that didn't come off as either inane, or terrified. _Get it over with! Just apologize already!_

"I didn't expect all of you to come so quickly... but I'm glad that you did." Closing her eyes for moment, she gathered up her courage and continued. "I'm so sorry that I left the way I did. I should have said something to you. I should have asked for help. It's just at the time..." She looked at Harry, who was the only one that didn't look angry. "Things just built up over time, and I didn't want to add to anyone else's burdens. And then, when my parents... when I found my parents were well and truly gone, something in me just snapped, I guess. I couldn't think. I could hardly breathe. The only thing that made any sense to me was to leave. And so I did."

"I shouldn't have stayed away so long either. I was just afraid that you all would hate me. I'm sorry, for all of it. I don't know if it's possible to forgive me, but I would like to be part of your lives again." The last came out in a rush, and Hermione made a conscious effort to unwind her hands.

It was Harry who moved; rising up from the sofa, he knelt at chair and covered her hands with his own.

"Hermione, you held up so well during the worst of it, we never thought that you might be having problems. I'm sorry that we didn't ask enough questions to see that you were struggling." He gave her a grim smile. "You saved my life and supported me at time when I needed it. You were my best friend... and I hope that we can still be good friends. As far as I'm concerned, there is nothing to forgive."

She squeezed his hands, overwhelmed with gratitude and relief. Abruptly, Ginny's voice cut through her revelry.

"You almost got Ron arrested for murder, you know." Hermione swung a startled look from Ginny's furious face to Ron's embarrassed one.

"Ginny... I didn't get arrested. I got questioned." Ron stood up, rubbing his face.

"Ron, what... what happened?" Hermione asked. Again, it was Ginny that responded.

"The Daily Prophet ran a bunch of stories about your disappearance. They accused Ron of murdering you because you wouldn't marry him. That's why he went to go live in America!"

"Come off it, Ginny. I went to America because I wanted to play Quidditch. And it wasn't that big of a deal. They questioned me because they had too, not because they thought I had killed Hermione..." Ron looked awkwardly between the two women.

"Oh god, Ron, I'm sorry, I never thought..." Hermione felt a fresh wave of hysteria push up.

Ron threw up a quelling hand. "Listen, Hermione. I wont pretend that I wasn't really mad at you for a long time. What you did hurt. You weren't just my girlfriend, you were my friend. And you just walked away, without even..." Ron's body tensed as he spoke. "It's probably a good thing you did stay away. But I can't really jump on you for running away. I pulled a runner in the middle of the Forest of Dean. At least you did it once the battle was over." He gave short derisive snort. "I don't know if we can be friends again, but I don't hate you. Even when I was at my maddest, I didn't hate you."

"I cannot believe this!" Ginny hissed. "After all that we had to go through... I'm leaving before I have to hear another word!" Shooting Hermione a venomous look, she swept out of the room. They all jumped as kitchen door slammed.

Giving Hermione's hands a final squeeze, Harry stood. "It's going to take some time, Hermione. Ginny well... a lot of that was hormones. She'll get over the worst of it. She worried about you all the time." Giving Ron a quick hug, he said "I better go before I make it worse. We'll talk more later, okay?"

Molly Weasley walked into the room. "Harry, she's out by the back shed. Ron, have you eaten? I just made supper."

"No, I'm good Mum. I need to return anyway. It'll take me forever to get back, and I've got practice." Walking to the doorway, he looked back at Hermione and said, "Take care okay? Will you be around for the holidays?"

"I don't know yet. I'll write you though, alright?" she replied quietly, and Ron left.


	6. Chapter 5- The Baffled King

_**A/N-**__As always, I want to give many thanks to my beta, Muggle Jane. She is not just awesome at beta-ing, but she's a great writer too! Check out her story, "Lost"._

_And you, lovely readers, thanks for following this story, and sending all of the those wonderful reviews and PMs- they certainly motivate me to write faster. Please keep them coming!_

* * *

_**Chapter 6- The Baffled King**_

Snape spent the better part of two weeks considering his options and making plans. At this juncture, he knew that he would either have to pack up and cut all ties to the wizarding world for good, or somehow reintegrate himself back into the fold as Severus Snape. The decision wasn't hard to make. He was tired of hiding, sick of worrying if today was going to be the day that he'd be discovered. He wanted to be able to publish under his own name again, and be able to have a proper potions laboratory. He wanted... well, if he were forced to it, more than a half life, hidden among the weeds.

Whilst he was fairly certain that he'd not be thrown straight into Azkaban if he re-emerged into the wizarding world, he wanted to make damn sure that if he were to return, he would be doing so in a position of power. To that end, he started working in earnest on several targeted healing potions, aided by the voluminous reports that Lucius sent from St. Mungo's.

When the email from George Weasley arrived in the third week, he almost cackled with glee. As part of the Hogwarts-led research team, Weasley wondered if he would be interested in working for three months on several specialized healing draughts that included Muggle medicines in their formulas. He had included a generous offer- more than his normal consulting fee, all materials covered, and should any of the potions provide to be efficacious, credit for the work. Sending off his agreement, Snape waited to be contacted by the St. Mungo's' researchers.

Any humour he felt in the situation disappeared when received an email from Hermione Granger with the project details.

The thought of working with that girl... just the sight of her name caused his blood pressure to soar, and brought back his final, painful, interactions with Voldemort. Her and Potter, standing over him, the world going dim as blood left his body in giant spurts...

It took him almost a full day to calm down enough to even read her email. _You know her well enough to manipulate her into getting what you want. After all you did for her and her band of merry men, she'll feel honour-bound to help you. Come now, when have things ever been easy or enjoyable for you? Read the damn email and get on with it. _Sitting down grudgingly, he began to read.

The email was long, and was replete with several attachments- hardly a surprise given the writer- but what shocked him out of his anger was the creativity found in the ideas.

The Hermione Granger he knew was brilliant, yes, but not creative. As a student, she had placed all of her faith in books, and almost none on intuition and experimentation. She had been competent in potions only because of her encyclopedic memory and slavish adherence to following directions. Granger had infuriated him, not just because of her relationship to Potter, but because she'd never truly grasped what stood between herself and greatness. It wasn't the talent that she lacked; rather it was the self-confidence in her own skills that held her back. She'd been so afraid of failure, so terrified to be one foot in the wrong that she had never dared to stretch beyond the accepted boundaries.

But the email... what she proposed to do was exceedingly complex, and so utterly out of the box, that had he not been reading the research reports from St. Mungo's, he would have doubted it as originally hers.

Muggle medicine could work on magical folk, as long as the injury or illness was non-magical in origin. Injuries or illnesses caused by dark magic- really, any complex magic- could not be subsumed by Muggle medicine due to it's non-metaphysical genesis. What Granger proposed to do was first use a series of charms on several different types of medications to... finesse them onto the magical plane, and then use the drugs as the foundation for healing potions. She theorized that, much like the Muggle drugs, they would have to be used in cycles, and in careful tandem with each other...

It was absolutely mad. It was also absolutely brilliant. Pulling out a sheet of paper, Snape began to take notes.

* * *

It took almost two months of constant emailing back and forth before Snape was prepared to start the first set of trials. They had finally settled on a Muggle steroid, prednisone, because of its effectiveness as an anti-inflammatory; St. Mungo's researchers had posited that part of the reason the disease progressed in some patients was due to a cycle of inflammation constantly re-aggravating neural connections.

The email exchanges between himself and Granger proved to be rather... invigorating. Her knowledge of Muggle biology and chemistry far outweighed his, and she constantly challenged his personal ideas of what was possible in potions, as well as magic in general. She wanted the reason behind everything- but as she wanted the knowledge in order to experiment, rather than regurgitate the information at a later date- he found the trait far less annoying than in years begone.

Granger clearly had no clue who she was corresponding with, and the occasional personal aside gave him a brief glimpse into the adult woman. He gathered that she had been living as a Muggle, which surprised him almost as much as her continued creativity. Despite himself, he was rather intrigued by the changes, and found himself looking forward to her daily missives. _Be honest. You've enjoyed having this bit of meaningful human contact. You weren't a born ascetic, longing for the life in a hermitage. _

And so he sat, staring at the blank screen of an email; to invite her to the trial, or not? He knew that he would have to reveal himself eventually if he wanted to use her to gain a secure situation, but he found himself uncharacteristically unwilling to jeopardize the working camaraderie of their relationship. _What the hell... she won't hate you any less if you wait. And seeing her in person might help break this unhealthy fascination with her mind. _Mind made up, he began to type.

* * *

_I may regret issuing this invitation, but would you like to assist me on the first set of experiments?_

Hermione stared in shock at the screen. She knew precious little about Simon Janus other than he was a brilliant potions maker, and that he guarded his privacy assiduously. She had thought, somewhat fancifully, of asking to attend but had chickened out when it came to it.

But he had asked her to assist him... _Oh, admit it, Hermione. You're being eaten alive with curiosity over the man. He's bloody brilliant, and you've been tossing ideas back and forth like candy. Of course you want to meet him! _

When their correspondence had begun, she'd been relieved that he had made no comment about her name, or her rather inglorious and well-known past. The sheer joy of thinking about magic again, of being able to throw all of her ideas out on paper and damn the consequences, had brought far more enjoyment than she'd thought. Add that to the relief of finally dealing with her severed past, of trying to fix whatever was wrong with her, and she'd been positively giddy most days.

_So, are you going to be all namby-pamby about meeting the man , or are you going to risk it?_

* * *

As the 10:30 train from Manchester pulled in to Blackrod, Severus Snape cursed himself as the world's biggest fool. He knew now that inviting Granger had been a fit of sheer vanity and ego on his part._ You should have waited until you had something foolproof to bargain with. Instead, you felt the need to show off. When has that ever worked out well for you?_ He would be exceeding lucky if she didn't try to hex him, and then get straight back on the next train to London. Standing under the clock that they'd agreed to meet under, he wondered if he could sneak away and claim unavoidable illness, like Spattergroit.

As passengers began to file off the train, he scanned the faces of the people walking by. It was her hair that gave her away. It was less bushy than he remembered, and darker, but the wealth of curls drew his attention all the same. She was halfway down the platform before she locked eyes with him, and it took her a couple of steps to realize just who was waiting for her.

Snape was prepared for an outburst of emotion; he didn't get it. Instead, he watched as every trace of feeling was wiped clean from her expression, turning the delicate curves of her face into stone. Her steps didn't as much as falter in their progress towards where he was standing. In a matter of moments, she stood in front of him, unreadable as the tea leaves in this morning's cup.

"Professor Snape." Her voice was lower than he remembered, and like her countenance, carefully blank.

"Miss Granger." He inclined his head. "Surprised to see me?"

She took a moment to answer. "No, not really. Had I thought about it, I might have guessed that it was you. After all, there are what... only three potion masters, including yourself, in all of Great Britain? I should have put it together." Her chin came up with a well-known flash of pique. "And it's Doctor, not Miss Granger. Sir."

"Doctor, hmm? And here I am, no longer a professor..." He jeered at her softly.

Her eyebrows creased at that. "Unless I very much misunderstood events, you were neither sacked nor did you resign. Thus, technically, you still are a professor. Headmaster, when it comes to it. Would you prefer that I address you by that?" Her gaze remained calmly upon his.

"Finally grew claws, did you?" He gave a short laugh. "No, I suppose Professor will do as well as anything." They stood in silence, breaths creating identical clouds of vapour. "Do you still wish to assist me?"

She nodded once. "As the results of this line of inquiry are rather important to me, yes, I do believe I will."

"You suffer from this collection of maladies as well, I take it?"

"Yes." Her voice conveyed a hint of frost.

"In that case, I'm parked over there." Pointing toward the commuter lot, he started forward.

* * *

As the black wool of his overcoat billowed behind him in the parking lot, Hermione fought off the sense of deja-vu that that evocative scene provoked. _Even in Muggle clothing, he has a flair for the dramatic. I wonder if the Muggles are just as intimidated by him as we were? _And then,_ Oh, god... Professor Snape is alive! _

As she trailed behind him, Hermione started to catalogue the differences in hopes of staving off the panicked questions threatening to overtake her brain. So... he looked different. Not younger precisely, and definitely not older, just different. He wasn't cadaverously thin anymore; that helped. Rather, he had the lean frame of a runner, much complimented by the masculine fluidity that had always marked his movements. His hair wasn't hanging in lanky, greasy sheets around his face. Instead, it was pulled into a neat sable queue that oddly fitted his strong facial features.

He turned his head back suddenly to look at her, black eyes glittering with oft-familiar impatience. Registering that she was struggling to keep up, he slowed his pace somewhat. The turn of his head highlighted the large scars on his neck. Scars from Nagini... Pushing back that surge of memories, Hermione turned her gaze out to the parking lot. _So, let's guess which car is his. _There weren't many to chose from, and she immediately discounted the lone BMW, and several battered estates. The nearest car had a child seat, and she strongly doubted that he'd drive a lime green, lowered Mark III Jetta. That left a red Honda, or a blue Vauxhall. _The Vauxhall then?_

Professor Snape pulled out a pair keys and the lights on the Vauxhall blinked. _Points to Gryffindor, _Hermione thought wryly.

* * *

Snape used the excuse of checking an intersection to glance down at the woman sitting next to him. Miss Granger, _Doctor Granger, _he thought snidely, sat with hands folded in lap, idly looking out the windscreen. She hadn't asked a single question during the ride; had not said anything, in fact. He wondered what it would take to break her apparent composure. Marshalling his thoughts toward the day's work, he gave in and broke the silence.

"You have been living as a Muggle, correct?"

"Yes." Again, that slight edge of frost.

"Relax, Doctor Granger," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I am not asking because I am curious, or because I wish to have a little chin wag." The last part he stressed with a heavy dose of scorn. "I am merely trying to determine what your level of magical skill is, and how much you can be trusted with."

"Any prep work, certainly. The beginning charms, and I should be able to oversee some of the potions work if we get that far. The serious magical work, no, and not the foundations of the potions. I have been too long outside of the magical world for that to be a good idea."

Silence.

"What is the plan for the day, sir?" _Finally_, Snape thought. _A question. _

"I have chosen ten different charms to try on the prednisone- mostly of the strengthening variety, but others to enhance different aspects of the drug as well. I want to see which will stick, and test them under different stressors to see if any will stay stable." He slowed the car down to turn onto the lane that his cottage was on. "Should any of the variants hold up, then we might see what affects adding them to potion creates. Today will be a day of trial and error, Doctor Granger."

* * *

At half past six, Snape finally called a halt to experiments. Of the ten charms that had been tried, only two had managed to stay somewhat stable while keeping to the chemical composition of the prednisone; four others had failed to make any sort of effect on the prednisone, and three had turned the liquid caustic enough to weaken the glass beakers. The last had unexpectedly exploded in a dramatic cloud of green flames.

Whilst she still resembled the inquisitive know-it-all from Hogwarts, Granger's manner had altered radically enough to make working with her not unpleasant. She didn't badger him with questions; she didn't overwhelm the room with her messy emotions and a need to please. Hermione Granger simply worked as requested, a small, enigmatic smile occasionally ghosting across her face.

Looking up from his notes, Snape eyed Granger, who was hand-washing beakers at the back sink.

"Will you be taking the train home?"

She looked back at him. "No, I was hoping to Apparate and save the journey back."

"The front porch is warded to allow it." She nodded, and resumed washing. Gathering up the last of dirty beakers, Snape walked over to the back table. As he sat the items down, his stomach gave a loud, and rather undignified rumble. Catching the noise, Granger began to smile, until hers responded quite emphatically in return. A light flush spread over her face, and embarrassed, she looked down at the glassware in her hands.

_In for a penny, in for a pound, _he thought with sour humour. "Would you care to stay for supper, Doctor Granger?"

"That would be much appreciated."

* * *

Granger ate with the economical grace of someone lost in thought. Watching her under half-veiled eyes, Snape caught the flicker of that small smile again._ What on earth has she been smiling about all day? Do I even want to hazard a guess at what she has been plotting? _

Abruptly she came to, as if sensing his increased attention. She focused on his face for a moment, and then put her fork down.

"I'm not going to reveal your whereabouts, Professor Snape. If that's what has you worried, you can breathe easy."

"I was not worried that you would disclose anything." _Little does she know I plan on her telling others..._

"Why the look then?" She kept her eyes on him, gaze placid.

"You've been smirking all day. It makes me wonder what you are planning, and if I need to hide my boomslang skin from you again."

She snorted at that. "Not likely. If I wanted to make a Polyjuice potion, I know where to buy the ingredients." Tilting her head slightly, she said in a soft voice, "You are alive."

"And...?" he queried at the non sequitur. At his response, she shook her head.

"I am grateful that you are alive. That's why I've been smiling. After all that was lost..." she looked down at her plate for a second, and Snape caught the faintest hint of grief as the meaning of her words penetrated his brain. "...after all that was lost, you are not dead. You risked more than most, and it always seemed to be the cruelest sort of irony that you received no reward for what you did. I am grateful that you live."

Her speech seem to hit him with the effect of a full body binding curse. Snape struggled to control the riot of emotions that her words engendered; tongue finally loosened by rage, he spat the only thing that was coherent amongst his thoughts, "Grateful? Your noble little Gryffindor soul is grateful that I live? Yes, you would be, especially as I am once again working on your behalf!"

Anger lit her eyes a fierce amber as she struggled to hold back her temper. "This work has nothing to do with it!"

"Oh, no?" he drawled spitefully. "You certainly did go to great lengths to preserve my life the night Voldemort fell. Such an abundance of gratitude then!" For a bare second, the comment seemed to hit her with all of the physical force of a punch; shame, anger, and pain rippled across features. Dimly, he became aware that they were both leaning over the kitchen table, shouting at each other; Granger's hair resembled Medusa's locks as it crackled and shifted with the sheer force of magic spinning around them.

As quickly as it appeared, the passion that animated Granger's face disappeared. In a flat voice she asked, "Tell me, Severus Snape, what do you regret?"

The painful question hung in the air for a long moment before she went on. "More than anything in my life, I regret not attempting to help you. I regret that I did not stay with you. I regret not coming back to find you. I have relived your death as often as you probably have. It is profoundly humbling to find out that my fear and many mistakes did not cost a man his life." She straightened up from the table stiffly, resembling nothing more than a worn marionette.

"I know that the world is neither fair or kind. But knowing that you lived, and made a life for yourself... it makes me deeply thankful. Utter bastard you may be, I am still grateful that you lived."

In that moment, time seem to stop, and he saw her as a stranger might. She looked so perfectly ordinary in a dark blue jumper and jeans, softly illuminated by the dim light of his kitchen. Her words however... oh, they were so far from ordinary. He had no doubt that she meant them, those bloody Gryffindor words of gratitude and regret. Therein lay the rub; she saw valour in his actions, a reason to expect reward. He saw... a mountain of regret. A lifetime of atonement which had only produced more indemnity.

Then time started again, and he heard the sound of harsh laughter. It took him several beats to realize that it came from him. He had to give Granger credit: she didn't look confused or scared by his sudden outburst. She didn't bat an eye, just stood there with that same unreadable countenance that she'd displayed at the train station. And so he laughed at his folly, and hers.

He sat finally, muscles threatening to give out, and stared at her over the expanse of the kitchen table. "I am alive, Doctor Granger. Thus by definition I did not, in fact, risk more than most in our little battle. But you are correct about one thing. I received no reward for what I did. Do you know, I have ever only asked for three things; for the life of Lily Evens to be spared, for privacy, so that my motives would be unknown to all but Albus Dumbledore... and when those two were gone, death."

He gave a shallow copy of his previous laugh. "She was my first and only friend. The first person I learned to trust; the only person I have ever loved. And I... I am responsible for her death. Do you want to know what I regret, Doctor Granger?"

He paused, memories of Lily shining brightly in his memory for a brief moment. Vivid red hair and the scents of spring intertwining with sunshine; a girl's joyful laugh, and the discovery that he was not totally alone in the world.

"I absolutely rue the day I became friends with her. Had I not..." he shook his head slowly, hands idly stroking the fine blonde grain of the table top. "Had I not, I never would have learned to care, or to wish for love, to long for friendship and trust. I could have gone my entire life without knowing the utter futility of regret." He looked up then. She hadn't moved, and her face was still impassive. But parallel tracks of wet tears ran down her face, unchecked.

Voice painstakingly gentle, he went on. "I don't want to care, Doctor Granger. I don't want to live, when it comes to it. But every time I've tried to end it, I wake up the next morning, infinitely more worse for the wear, still damned, still alive. I seem to have little choice in the matter. My only hope is that should I be forced into battle again, it will be my last."

"Go. Please."

Granger picked up her plate, and lightly put it in the sink. Turning back around to face him, she said carefully, "Thank you for supper, and for letting me watch the first trials. I'll email you my notes in the next several days." She walked out of the kitchen, and Snape heard the front door opening followed a scant second later by the crack of her Disapparation.


	7. Ch 6- Castles Gone to the Constant Sea

_**Chapter 6- Castles Gone the Constant Sea**_

"_Tell me, Severus Snape, what do you regret?"_

After Granger left, he remained sitting at the kitchen table, all emotions drained from as if the last conversation had been a sieve. Dully, he watched the clock, registering as it struck seven-thirty, and then eight.

He had just started making plans to get up when he felt the wards flicker, and heard the crack of someone Apparating onto the porch. _Granger wouldn't dare come back, would she?, _he thought with some dismay. Then, a single knock. _Not Granger, then._

The person didn't wait for a response, and he heard the sound of firm boot heels on the wood floor. Shifting slightly, he gazed at the doorway. Minerva McGonagall stepped into the kitchen.

"Good evening, Severus," she said.

"Minerva." He tried to conjure up some curiosity at her presence, some anger at her presumption. He failed.

She hesitated slightly before speaking. "You look like you could use a cup of tea." Her Scots-brogue was more evident than he remembered.

As Minerva waited patiently for a response, it dawned that she was waiting for him to respond. Reluctantly, he pointed towards the sink. "Right cupboard. I'm out of milk."

Opening up the cupboard, she rummaged through the selection teas before settling on a ginseng and rosehip mixture. Deftly she lit the stove, and put the kettle on. Rather than speaking, she peered abstractly out the dark kitchen widow while the water heated up, lost in her own thoughts. He merely watched her. The intervening years had not been kind; she looked tired, and old.

As the kettle started the rumble that was prelude to the whistle, she pulled two cups out of the drying rack and placed them onto to the table. Taking a small silver flask out of her robes, she poured a healthy splash in the mug closest to her. Looking questioningly at him, she suspended the flask over his cup.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the flask. She sighed, and said, "We all have our ways of coping, Severus. I am not the first Headmistress of Hogwarts with a weakness for drink. I doubt very much I'll be the last. Yes, or no?"

"Yes." She put the same amount in his cup and fetched the kettle. Pouring the tea, she sat down at the table, delicate hands encircling the warm cup. He took an experimental sip of his tea and grimaced.

"Whiskey and rosehip are not a good paring."

She shrugged her shoulders philosophically, and took a measured drink. "Oolong would have been worse." The both sipped at their tea halfheartedly, silence punctuated only by the clock.

He was staring to wonder if she would ever get to the point of her visit when she spoke. "I have just come from Miss Granger's. She did not give you away, incidentally. Somewhere in her travels she learned to lie, and lie well."

Snape just stared at her, drink and exhaustion making it almost impossible to make sense out of her statement.

"She emailed George this morning to inform him of her plans to visit you." Extracting a small crystal fastened to a sliver chain from out of her robes, she gently sat the item on the table. It swirled a shade of deepest violet, edged here and there with a heavy black or oxblood red. He found the fragile object strangely compelling, and without meaning too, reached across the table and brushed his fingertips across the prism.

A piercing sorrow enveloped him, flavoured with undercurrents of guilt and icy fury. Cautiously, he removed his fingers, and the feelings disappeared, rendering him once again numb. He touched a second time, and he picked up on a forth feeling: bone-deep wariness. He withdrew his hand totally and looked up at Minerva.

"It's a rather lovely bit of charms work, isn't it? Aldrich Weasley made it many years ago. It allows a window into another's feelings, provided they are wearing the second half of the necklace." Regard steady, she went on. "Hermione Granger is wearing the other half; Arthur gave it to her six years ago. I asked Molly Weasley to keep an eye on it today. Apparently it's gone through quite the rainbow. She called me almost two hours ago when it turned completely black."

"Yes, I imagine it would have done." Snape said.

"Unfortunately, it only tells the feelings of the bearer, not the location. I waited at her flat for almost an hour before she arrived, very much a mess. She said that she was crying because she had made a mistake during Apparition. I didn't press the subject, just gave her a drink and put her to bed."

"And having given me tea, will you now be putting me to bed, Minerva?" Snape said, trying for his normal level of scorn.

"If you asked," she said gravely, "then yes, I would." She poured more tea into her cup and offered seconds to him. He shook his head, the feeling of internal disengagement at last subsiding.

"Why are you here?"

"Severus, your existence is all but an open secret now. I've done all that I can to ensure your privacy, but between Lucius' supercilious comments and your potions work, people are starting to talk in earnest. Have you made any plans?"

"I had planned to manoeuvre Doctor Granger into helping me gain a secure position by threatening to halt my part of the potions work," he said somewhat acerbically. "Perhaps I can blackmail you instead?"

"Do you wish to come back?" she returned simply.

"No, not particularly. I have very little interest in the wider wizarding world." He sighed, feeling an echo of the necklace's wariness. "But I'm tired of hiding, and have no wish to live out the rest of my life as a Muggle. I'm tired of playing the waiting game, Minerva. If I am forced to continue this mortal coil," he said, finally managing to inject a fair amount of sarcasm into his voice, "then I shall damn well do it as Severus Snape, and do as I please."

For a second, Minerva's eyes glittered with strong emotion. "Good for you. I can offer sanctuary at Hogwarts, should you so want it."

"Under what conditions?" He couldn't manage a sneer. He had not ever imagined that he would ever be invited back to that place... the one place that had felt like home.

"None." Her reply was absolute. "If you want to teach, I know Horace will gladly bow out. The man might as well be a ghost for all of the life he has left in him. If you would prefer to have no contact with students, and not participate in castle life, then we shall arrange it thusly. I will, of course, provide you with a potions lab, and you will have full access to the Library and anything else you need. You will not be required nor requested to do anything that you do not wish to do. I will swear it under an Unbreakable Vow, if you so desire."

He sat back in the chair, completely stunned at her offer.

"Kingsley and several others have pushed through an irrevocable pardon for you in the Wizengamot; there will be no further problems from the Ministry concerning your previous actions." She said that last bit with quiet relish.

"Who else pushed the pardon through?" It was the only question he could think to ask, as the rest of his mind to busy spinning with the possibilities of returning to Hogwarts.

"Arthur, and Horace also used his influence with the Slug Club to good effect. Mr. Potter, of course."

"Naturally." Snape said. "What is the situation at Hogwarts?"

"As I said, Horace is in dire need of a replacement. He does the Slytherins no favours by remaining. However, I have not been able to find an acceptable long-term replacement for him, either in potions or as Head of House. We have fewer students than in other years, although enrolment has been increasing gradually for the last five. Given the number of students who left the school early because of the troubles, we decided to reinstate the practice of apprenticeship so that those who wished to finish N.E.W.T. Level qualifications could do so without having to return as a student." She paused to think. "There are several new staff members, including an American. Filius and Pomona are still heads of house; Neville has taken over for Gryffindor. "

At this he laughed. "That must have stung, Minerva."

Pursing her lips, she said, "He is not the child you remember, Severus."

"No, none of them are the children that I remember." He spoke the last with some self-deprecation, and pointedly glanced down at the crystal necklace sitting on the table between the two of them. A faint smile crossed Minerva's face at that admission.

"I'll not lie to you Severus. I would prefer to have you back at Hogwarts as a professor, and head of house again. You are the best man for the position."

"It sounds as if I am the only man for the job," he interrupted.

"There are others. None who have the qualifications and talent that you do, and none who will fight for the Slytherins as you would. There are also none who I trust as much as you."

He felt nascent roll of anger begin in his gut. _Ah, shades of my conversation with Granger... "_So you trust me now? How very... convenient."

She ignored the withering comment. "I am well aware that you do not like to hear about feelings of others, so I will only say this; had I known what Albus was planning to do- in regards to the sacrifices that he expected from both you and Potter- you would not have had to kill him." She suddenly looked very mad, and every inch a Scot; even her tartan scarf seemed to glower fiercely in the muted light of the kitchen.

"No, had I but known what Albus was planning, I would have gladly killed him myself." Green eyes vehement, she intoned the next words with care and precision. "It was wrong. Very wrong. He had no right to leave you alone like that, and not in the mess that he did."

She gave him a grim little smile of satisfaction. "Do you know, it took his portrait almost three years to work up the courage to come into the office when I was in it?" At that comment, she stood and picked up her cup.

"I would welcome you back to Hogwarts in any capacity, Severus. We will make do, regardless. Please let me know what your decision is, or if there is another way that I can assist in your transition." She walked over the sink and placed her cup on top of Granger's plate.

"Good night." Giving him a firm nod, she walked out of the kitchen. He heard the front door open, then shut, and her Apparition.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he had managed to drag himself into bed, and was struggling to pull the covers up when he heard a gentle whoosh. He sat up quickly, wand in hand. At the foot of the bed stood the silvery form of a Patronus. It was a large tabby cat with spectacle markings around the eyes.

The cat paced up the length of the bed, and imperiously head-butted him back down into the mattress. With a condescending flick of its tail the Patronus walked to where the blankets were puddled and started to pull them up to Snape's shoulders. Relaxing into his pillow, he could only think, _Merlin, what a day, _before falling asleep to the sound of purring.


	8. Chapter 7- Sleeping to Dream

_**A/N: **_

___Trauma always manages to claw it's way out of the dark recesses of our minds; it will only play second fiddle to the events in our lives for so long before resurfacing. Trauma eventually interrupts the plot of everyday life because it doesn't fit what came before, or what happened after. It changes you in ways large and small, and it can take years to even began to detect those differences._

___How do you pick up the pieces when you are still breaking?_

_**Chapter 8- Sleeping to Dream**_

Hermione lay in the filthy earthen passageway beneath the Whomping Willow, shivering with terror and panic. She had to get to the Shrieking Shack. If she didn't make it in time, everything would all be for naught... She crept forward, fear making every millimetre a struggle. After what seemed an interminable distance, she finally made to the end of the tunnel. Above the frenzied sound of her beating heart, she could could hear a terrible gurgling, a faltering rasp of breath coming from the room beyond her. It had to a be a person, and those noises... those horrible noises scared her so badly... Pausing at the small opening, she worked to control her breathing, not to give away her location. Could she wait for those sounds to cease in the room beyond, or should she risk peeking out to see?

"Look... at... me..." said a ragged, insistent voice. Professor Snape.

The realization of who lay in the room propelled her forward, half-stumbling over dusty crates and broken furniture, almost slipping face first when her feet hit the large puddle of crimson blood. Professor Snape lay sprawled in the middle of the floor, throat ripped open wide, hands spasmodically clenching at the gaping wound, blood running through his fingers like water running out of a hose.

His ferocious black eyes fastened on hers as she fell to her knees in front of him; as she struggled to remember a healing charm, CPR, anything to help, his body gave a final jerk and went still.

"No. No. No no no no no!" she chanted frantically, rolling him to his back, her hands gone slick with his blood. There had to be something she could do...

A scream from farther in the shack lit the air with a new terror. Ripping her gaze from the dead man, she stared at the closed door on the other side of the room. A second yell sounded, this time male. Urgent.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she whispered to Professor Snape. "I waited too long. I should have hurried. If I go now, maybe I can help them!" Scrambling to the door, she flung it open. A man in a dark robes stood in front of her, laughing maniacally. Crying out, she stepped back. But the man didn't step into the room. It wasn't a man after all, but a life-size portrait hanging in the hallway.

The portrait laughed again and it hit her who it was: Martson Mortaine. The first man she had ever killed.

"Too late Mudblood! You're too late to help them!" he cackled with glee. The screams sounded again... and they were familiar to her.

Then she was running down an impossibly long hallway, catching brief glimpses of other laughing, taunting portraits. Other dead men and women that she had killed.

Faster and faster, and the end of the hallway appeared; the shaft was illuminated with a shifting, flickering, malevolent orange light. _Oh god, fire! _She felt the terrible pressure of the heat first, felt it singe hair and suck the air right out from her lungs. And then she saw into the room, and saw who was crouched in the corner, unreachable through a wall of flame.

Her parents. Clinging hard together, giving as much comfort as possible whilst fire danced over their clothes, melting skin and hair into masks of pain and horror.

"Not long now, my darling... it won't be much longer.." her father coughed out, stroking her mum's back in that familiar way.

Then her Mum looked up and saw her, stretched a charred and clawed hand out in supplication.

"Help us, please, oh please help us! It hurts so much..." The air smelled of eucalyptus and burning flesh and Hermione was on her knees again, begging, trying to find a way though fire.

"Mum! Dad...! Just hold on, I'm coming! Just... please!"

Her father had stopped moving; as her Mum's head melted onto his shoulder, she looked straight at Hermione and asked, "Who are you?"

Hermione woke up screaming, sheets twisted tightly around around her legs. Feeling her stomach heave, she frantically clawed at the bedding to free herself. Finally hitting the floor with a painful thump, she made it to the loo just in time to retch up the remains of supper.

She continued to gag long after her stomach became empty. When the spasms eventually ceased, she found herself shaking and sweating on the cold tile floor, sides aching so badly that she wondered if she'd broken ribs. Hauling herself up to the faucet, she rinsed her mouth out and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Utterly blank face, wild, fulgid eyes. Taking deep breaths in, she fought hard to regain some semblance of composure.

It took twenty minutes for the person in the mirror to look like Hermione Jean Granger. It took almost as long again to get her thoughts back in order, to get everything tucked back in the proper boxes and bins in the recesses of her mind. Finally releasing her death grip on the edges of the sink, she stepped back and made her way unsteadily towards her bedroom.

Her night terrors had been a nearly constant presence for the first three years after she'd left the magical world; only after she'd completely failed a bio-chem exam for a third time at the end of her senior year had she sought help from a university counsellor. She had been forced to lie, and leave out much of what haunted her, but talking about matters had helped somewhat with the panic attacks and dreams. Better yet, the counsellor had given her several books on treating PTSD, and from those beginnings she'd managed to cobble together a facsimile of mental stability.

Returning to the wizarding world, to the Weasleys, and all she'd left behind hadn't brought the expected re-emergence of the night terrors. That had been a happy surprise, but she had known that eventually she would have to make peace with the entirety of her memories. Even without their fight, seeing Professor Snape would have been enough of a trigger; he had been a frequent nocturnal spectre in years past. Little wonder she'd had the dream again...

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she'd not be able to go back to sleep, despite it only being a quarter past four. Casting her eyes about for a distraction, she saw her notebook sitting on the bedside table. _I might as well type up my notes from the trials now... but will it do any good? _She saw Professor Snape's expression as she'd left him; defeat carving bleak lines into his face, dark eyes dead and flat. _Do you really think that he'll continue to work on the project after that delightful bonding session? Jesus, will I even get him to speak with me again? _

The day had gone ridiculously, surprisingly, well. After the first awkward hour they had settled into their respective tasks, and she'd enjoyed not only working serious magic again, but watching Professor Snape's deft and confident castings. She'd caught herself more than once just staring at him in downright awe, his Muggle clothes standing in clear counterpoint to the complex magic that he was weaving. Indeed, he was as much a scientist as he was wizard, and when they'd stopped for afternoon tea, they'd launched into a roaring debate over the use of medical charms versus potions in the terminally ill. Oh, he'd still been Professor Snape; still sarcastic, biting, rapier wit ready to skewer at her first misstep. His attacks hadn't been personal, however, and he'd even given in on several of her finer points. Until dinner, their shared history hadn't even really come up.

And then she'd been a consummate idiot. _"I am grateful that you live."_

After that pleasing bon mot, she'd compounded the monumental error by letting her emotions get the best of her. Her question concerning regret had been deliberately cruel, given what she'd seen of his memories and knew of his life. How she'd got out of there without being torn to bits...

"_I could have gone my entire life without knowing the utter futility of regret."_

She had run away from her friends and life because her emotions had threatened to break her into a million useless pieces. But even on her worst day, she'd not wished those friendships, those bonds, gone. She could not, did not, want to think about how bad things must have been for Severus Snape if he wanted to erase memories of his only friendship. Just the thought of it caused her breath to catch, and she resolutely pushed the gut-wrenching thoughts away. So, the notebook; she needed to work on something productive. Even if Professor Snape refused to work further with her, the notes from their experiments would be important.

Snagging her laptop from the desk, she walked over to the window seat and sat down. Since she was up so early, she might as well watch the sunrise while she worked.

* * *

Snape dreamed of Hogwarts. Good dreams, of his first properly clean and comfortable bed, laboratories and libraries where everything was possible, of space and blessed silence. Bad dreams where everything had been defiled by his own hand, of being pursued down long, cold, stone hallways and mocked endlessly by a stag, werewolf, dog, and rat. He dreamt of killing Dumbledore. Then he sat with Lily in a tree, watching the sun set over the lake. Happy.

He woke with tears running down his face, the lingering scent of a spring evening, blooming willow and Lily perfuming the air. He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom for a long time, remembering. The tears were dry by the time he got up and threw on a pair of old sweat pants and a t-shirt. Once in the kitchen, he pulled on a pair of battered trainers, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn chill.

Exiting out the garden door, he made for the gate that led to the bridle path. He set off at a slow jog, navigating by the dappled silver light of the full moon falling between the hedgerows. As his back and legs loosened up, he ran faster, and faster still as the whispers of his memories were drowned out by the steady pound of feet and heart.

He let the cold night air flow over his body, air so heavy with damp that it almost felt like water caressing his skin. He ran until the moon set and the sun rose; until silver and black had been replaced by bright yellows and verdant greens. Finally, he stopped and sat on the sandy shore of the Lower Rivington Reservoir, the tumbled ruins of Lever Castle at his back.

The sun was warm on his face, and the breeze coming of the dark waters of the reservoir seemed to push the last fragments of his dreams away.

He was greedy man; he'd not decline Minerva's offer of going back to Hogwarts. For all of the bad that had happened there, the memory of his first steps onto the Hogwarts grounds remained firmly etched in his mind as irrevocably wonderful. He'd stepped out the little rickety rowboat, soaked from the lake and cold rain coming down in sheets, sick with worry over his forthcoming sorting... and felt Hogwarts welcome him. Magic, warm and comforting, had embraced him, had danced over his skin in recognition and joy. Despite the horrid September weather, he would have sworn that he'd felt a warm breeze touch his face and smelled sweet flowers and spice. In that instant, Hogwarts wasn't just home, it became his lodestone.

So yes, he would return. What needed to be decided was if he'd resume his teaching and Head of House duties. The thought of living at Hogwarts, being able to research and brew without the constraints of teaching, of not having to deal with dunderhead students, was incredibly tempting. But that possessive part of his mind, the part that would not let him part with Hogwarts, pressed at him. He knew that there was no way he would be able to stand back whilst some else made decisions for his House, or erred in teaching Potions. And to have the luxury of running Slytherin the way he wanted, without having to cave to external factors... the sheer covetous feelings evoked by that notion made his decision an easy one.

Water lapping at his feet broke his reverie. _No time like the present then, _he thought, and sent his Patronus to Minerva requesting a meeting.

* * *

**_Postscript_**_**:**_ _As always, I want to start off by sending some serious kudos to my beta, Muggle Jane. Her encouragement and and eye for detail make these chapters infinitely more readable, trust me! _

_And to you, lovely readers, thank you! I received a ton of comments from last week's chapters, and your feedback made my week. In particular, I want to thank LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL and smithback, who are always kind enough to leave comments, and paddiew, viola1701e, lunarose87 and Slytherin Witch who joined the much needed chorus over the last two weeks. Moi, I wish I could respond to your comment! It was once again spot on and brilliantly put. Casualties, indeed! _

_A few general notes based on PM questions: yes, the chapter titles are still mostly bits and pieces from songs. In many cases, it's the song I wrote the chapter to. Music is my muse, and if I can't find the right tune, writing is like pulling teeth._


	9. Chapter 8- Excrement and Oscillators

_**Chapter 9- Excrement and Oscillators**_

Snape had made it back to the house and showered by the time Minerva sent her response; somewhat to his surprise, she indicated that she was free currently and would be happy to meet him at the cottage. He had just started cooking French toast when she knocked; upon opening the front door, he saw that she looked no better than the previous evening. Worse even. Minerva McGonagall was one of the most precise and fastidious people he knew- which was little surprise given her predilection for transfiguration- but this morning, everything about her was just a little... askew. From her hair to her robes, there were signs of not just a long night, but many such evenings.

Opening the door wider to admit her, he spoke flippantly. "Looking at you, I am so pleased to not be Headmaster any longer." She grimaced at his words and walked in.

"About that, Severus. As you did not resign or die, technically..."

He gave a curt laugh, and threw up his hands to interrupt her. "Spare me the lecture, Minerva. Doctor Granger already pointed out that salient fact yesterday. It does not bear repeating. Believe me when I say, you are more than welcome to the job. I have no wish to usurp your authority."

"More's the pity. I wouldn't mind watching you eviscerate a certain pair of Hufflepuffs who decided that the full moon was the perfect time to go swimming with the giant squid. The grindylows almost had quite the feast before Hagrid waded in."

"Merlin save us from idiots..." he examined her appraisingly. "Have you eaten?"

"No, I have not."

"In," he said, pointing towards the kitchen table, and walked towards the hob. "I have French toast, and a proper pot of tea."

She sat, and he poured her a cup of tea. Looking at him musingly, she spoke. "French toast is my favourite breakfast."

"I know." He flipped the first slice over and did not look back at her. Dipping two more slices into the egg batter, he fussed over the breakfast until the French toast was done. Placing them carefully on two plates, he walked over to the table and sat.

She was sitting in the chair he had occupied last night, and he felt a momentary flicker of apprehension concerning how quickly things in his life were shifting. Pushing the feeling back, he picked up his fork and began cutting the french toast.

"I would like to return to Hogwarts, and would be willing to do so as both a professor and Head of Slytherin House." She relaxed at his comment, and began eating in earnest. "However, I am giving you notice now that I will make your life a living hell should you attempt to meddle in my affairs, or my House, as Dumbledore did. Do not expect a brand new man; my temperament hasn't changed all that much in eight years. And I meant what I said last night, Minerva. If I am forced to do this, then I shall do it my way or not at all. If you found me frustrating before, you will find me doubly so when I am not walking a fine line between two deluded bastards."

"I am not Dumbledore, Severus. I think that you will find my leadership style..." she parsed words for a moment, "both more inclusive, and less divisive. I do not encourage or support the House rivalries to the same extent he did, for example. You have other conditions?"

"Although I would prefer to return to Hogwarts sooner rather than later, I think it best for me to take up the position at the start of next school year. Other than the necessary forays into the village to pick up supplies, I have led a very... retired life, shall we say. Bluntly put, I am rather unsocialized. Should I jump straight into teaching duties and Head of House, I am liable to kill a student within the first week."

"You are welcome to start residing at Hogwarts immediately. As we've only three and half months left in the term, I see no issue with waiting until the fall to start your duties."

"Will I be required to take an apprentice?"

"No, not at all. That will be entirely up to you." Putting down her fork, she looked at him calculatingly. "Will you be continuing your work with Miss Granger?"

"Yes," he said dourly. "Assuming, of course, that she can abide by certain ground rules that I will make painfully clear."

"Do you..." at this query, she paused, "... suffer from the same series of maladies? I don't mean to pry, but forewarned is forearmed."

"No, I do not. While there are some mornings that I feel like utter shite, my health complaints are of a more general nature."

"Well, that is a relief." She rubbed her face tiredly, and pushed the last piece of French toast around on her plate. "However, working with Miss Granger may prove to be a bit more complicated than you think."

"In what way?" he drawled impatiently.

"She may be unwilling to come to Hogwarts." That surprised him, and he waited for her explanation.

"I don't know how much you heard about what happened to Hogwarts after Voldemort's death, but the school was attacked several more times by the remaining Death Eaters." Minerva pursed her lips, and a familiar anger coloured her tone. "The last time, Miss Granger was caught by Martson Mortaine while trying to evacuate students. He, and his followers, took her to the Great Hall, broke her wand and proceeded to torture her for several hours."

She swallowed, and visibly worked to keep her emotions at bay. "In the face of three hours of torture, despite being tied up and wandless, she somehow managed to strike back. I don't know the details; she has yet to speak to what exactly happened, but she struck them all down with a variant of _Sectumsempra_."Again, she worked to control her composure.

"When she walked out of the Great Hall, it looked like an abattoir... and she has yet to return to the school."

Snape sat, for the second time in as many days, absolutely stunned.

"She killed seven Death Eaters using _Sectumsempra... _without using a wand? After being tortured?"

Minerva nodded. "All were entirely decapitated. We think that it occurred simultaneously. She may not be the dualist that you or I are, but back her in a corner and she is as powerful of a witch as I have ever met."

He sat and thought about the implications found in Minerva's recitation of events. _Sectumsempra _was one of the dark curses that he'd created, and he understood better than most how much rage and magical energy it would take to merely decapitate someone with the spell. Seven people, with no wand... _No, she definitely is not the child you remember._

"Is that when she left and became a Muggle?"

"No, there was several months' more fighting, and she comported herself admirably. She left a little over a year later, after she discovered that her parents had been killed by wildfires in Australia."

"Yes, I can see why you speak of complicated matters." Looking at the clock, he thought quickly. "It's early yet, and this conversation would be better served with Granger actually present. Do you think she would be willing to join us to discuss going forward?"

Minerva pondered his question for a minute and then spoke. "We won't know until we ask." Closing eyes in concentration, she sent her Patronus flying from her wand.

Snape rose, and returned to the hob. "Do you want more French toast?"

"That would be lovely."

Several minutes passed in silence before Granger's reply came: "I'll be there in twenty."

* * *

She arrived in fifteen minutes, and looked even worse than Minerva had. Her hair, scraped back into a ponytail, resembled a hexed poodle. Waxen and pale, it was obvious that she had not slept much, if at all. Still, she was coolly composed; he could detect no hint of the previous evening's tempestuous emotions in her bearing.

"Good morning, Doctor Granger. I trust you slept well?" he said, deadpan.

She didn't falter under his regard, waiting a measured five seconds before responding. "Just Granger, or Hermione. You needn't call me Doctor."

"As you wish." He motioned towards the kitchen. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"I have French toast and tea, should you so wish."

"That would be much appreciated," she said, echoing her response of the previous evening; an intentional mockery he was sure. _Last night's discussion certainly didn't serve to scare or cow her, did it? At least she didn't come bursting in with apologies and explanations. Perhaps there is hope for working together after all... _

Greeting the Headmistress, Granger looked questioningly at the table, which held only two chairs.

"Sit," he said shortly. Leaning with his back towards the sink, he stared down at her for a moment before speaking. "Am I correct in assuming that you have not changed your mind about working with me on this project?"

"I still wish to work with you, yes."

"Very well. There will be several provisos going forward. First, I will not tolerate a repeat of last night. I am not interested in discussing or reminiscing over the past. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Second, there will be no questions of a personal nature. I am not seeking to becoming friends, nor am interested in your private life, or feelings. This relationship is to be of a purely academic sort. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"The last point is not strictly a proviso, but rather a request." Moderating his voice, he went on. "I will be returning to Hogwarts in the near future, and will be resuming teaching and Head of House duties come the fall. Would you be willing to come there to continue any laboratory work?"

At this, Granger glanced at Minerva, who shrugged slightly and said, "I told Professor Snape that you might be reluctant to return."

Granger looked out the kitchen window for a long moment before transferring her gaze back to him. _Not fun when others bandy about your private history for public consumption, is it?_

"As long as I can stay clear of the Great Hall, I don't foresee an issue." She sipped her tea, emotionless. _Seven people, wandless... _

"Have we reached an agreement then?" Minerva broke in. He started to voice an affirmative, when Granger spoke.

"I will have your word that you will remain polite and civil at all times." Looking at her, he detected a hint of anger under her words. _And never satisfied unless you have the last say-so..._

"That should not be a problem... for me," he said, letting the barest flicker of a smirk cross his face.

"Then the agreement is acceptable to me." Granger put a slice of French toast of her plate, and began to eat.

"Excellent," Minerva said. "I would like an update on how the first run of experiments went..."

* * *

They were interrupted some time later by the arrival of a Patronus. It took Snape a moment to place the silver weasel; he remembered the identity as Arthur Weasley's voice issued forth.

"Minerva, Molly and I are headed to St. Mungo's. Harry just sent word that Ginny has had several large seizures in the past hour..." Fear thickened the next sentence. "There is some concern over the baby. Could you send word if there been any progress with Hermione's project, or any of other the research groups?" The Patronus dissolved.

"I didn't..." Granger looked emotional for the first time all morning. "I didn't know that Ginny was sick too. Have any of the other groups had any success?"

Standing, Minerva placed her napkin on the table. "No, unfortunately not. Do you wish to accompany me to St. Mungo's?"

"Yes. Ginny and I haven't mended fences yet... but yes, I would." Both started for the door.

"Severus, thank you for breakfast. You will let me know when you are ready to return to Hogwarts?"

He stared at the two women, wondering if he was ready to swim in shark infested waters once again.

"Wait." He sighed, and pushed a few strands of hair back from his face. "I have some potions that I made for Draco that could prove to be efficacious. How far along is she?"

It was Minerva who recovered from surprise first. "Almost seven months."

"The potions should be safe then. Give me a moment, and I'll come as well."

Minerva stepped back into the kitchen. "Severus, you don't have to..."

"I can't just send you the potions with a set of instructions, Minerva. I need to be on hand to administer and adjust them." He headed towards the cellar stairwell, scowling back at her, voice biting. "Don't argue with me. I've made up my mind about coming back, and there's no use putting it off. Might as well get the worst over with. It won't be enjoyable regardless."

* * *

When Professor Snape emerged from the cellar a scant five minutes later carrying a large basket, he looked like the intimidating teacher from her memory. His Muggle clothes were completely hidden by familiar billowing black robes, and his face was grim and set. He fairly crackled with impatience, and Hermione wondered what on earth had motivated him to not just come back to teach at Hogwarts, but re-enter the wizarding world in such an abrupt fashion. Even the Headmistress appeared slightly taken aback, as if she'd like to argue the point further with him.

He glared back at Minerva, a clear challenge in his flashing black eyes. "Shall we depart, or are we going to stand here for the remainder of the morning?"

"Very well, Severus. Are you familiar with the Healers' entrance to St. Mungo's?"

"Yes," he replied brusquely, and made for the front door.

"Then I shall take Miss Granger, and meet you there."

* * *

They found George first, sitting in a private waiting room and looking quietly anxious. He gaze lingered on Professor Snape until Hermione tentatively touched his arm. With a start, he looked down and gripped her hands with his own.

"How is she, George?" Hermione asked.

"Not good. She's had several more seizures since she got here." He looked back to Snape. "Simon Janus, I presume?" There was a slight edge of sarcasm in his tone.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley... I've brought several potions that might stabilize your sister's condition."

"Right then. I'll go grab the Healer, and tell Mum and Dad." He made for the door, but stopped before completely exiting. Looking back at Snape, he said, "Thank you for coming."

* * *

Several minutes later, George reappeared with the Healer, a short, stocky man with vivid blond hair; and Arthur.

"Hello, Severus. Minerva, Hermione," said the older man tiredly. "George said that you've brought something that might help?"

"Yes. I've been working on several potions for are not healing draughts per say, but should stop the seizures and help her to recover more quickly."

Arthur nodded. "Harry has given permission for treatment, and Molly and I certainly won't argue."

The Healer spoke. "I'm Richard Brightbrook, Mrs. Potter's Healer. What types of potions do you propose using?"

Before Snape could do more than stare icily at the man, he went on. "I'm not questioning your skill as a potions master, Professor Snape, nor in choosing these particular formulas. I ask as Mrs. Potter's Healer; I need to be sure that what we've already given her will not react poorly, and would like to be able to plan for any complications that might arise."

Hermione heard the deep, measured voice of the professor respond, but could not make out the words. Looking down slowly at her left hand, she saw as if from a great distance the digits flex and pulse, could feel similar twitches and muscle spasms go up her leg.

_Oh, god. Not here, not now! Leave, Hermione, find somewhere else to do this..._

"Pardon me for a moment..." The conversation paused, but did not falter, and she quickly went out the door.

* * *

Hermione had clearly recalled seeing a bathroom on their way to the waiting room, but whether it be from panic or simple misdirection she found herself wandering down an unfamiliar and empty corridor, trying not stumble as cramps periodically rippled down her left side. _Please, oh please, I just need to find a quiet room! I do not want to lose it in the middle of St. Mungo's! _ Seeing a set of engraved double doors that led to an outside space, she made for them. Perhaps if she could see where she was in the grand scheme of the building, she'd be able to find her way back?

She entered a small herb garden, and to her relief, saw that it had several benches tucked amongst the various plants. Making for one in a corner, she started to relax... until she heard the door open behind her.

"Why, if it isn't Miss Hermione Jean Granger," a sickly sweet female voice cooed. Hermione turned, and saw the strong-jawed, bejewelled form of Rita Skeeter advancing towards her. _Oh, no... you have got to be kidding me! _A flash heralded by a loud, sizzling pop came from her right; Rita was accompanied by a photographer. The flash from the camera seem to linger and fragment in Hermione's vision, creating a kaleidoscope of falling stars in the garden. The spasms abruptly worsened, and she involuntary gasped from pain as she felt a finger of icy fire travel up her spine. Then the garden doors banged open again, revealing a large group of people led by a figure in Healer's green.

Qwik Quill at the ready, and beaming with satisfaction at her sudden audience, Rita simpered, "Tell me, Hermione... is it true that Ginny Potter lost her baby because you've been having an affair with Harry Potter? And he is leaving her for you?"

Hermione's world darkened to narrow band of black, and she felt her knees start to buckle.

* * *

The Healer had finally given his consent to administer the potions when Snape realized that Granger had yet to return. Fighting a sense of unease, he moved to the hallway and looked for her bushy-haired figure among the milling people.

Looking at Minerva he asked, "Did you see where Granger disappeared to?" He hadn't missed the muscle spasms in her hand, although he doubted that anyone else had seen them.

Minerva shook her head, "No, I didn't. Arthur, did you see which way Hermione went?"

Snape walked out into the hallway without waiting for his response. _Bollocks. She would wander off rather than just admit there is a problem. One would think she would have enough common sense... we're in a hospital, not bloody Gringotts. Strange medical conditions aren't exactly unheard of here._

A growing rumble drew him over to a bay of windows; looking down onto a herb garden he saw a large crowd... and Rita Skeeter at the helm, advancing towards Granger. Skeeter's grin was all reptilian anticipation, and Granger... Granger looked about two seconds from passing out.

_Fuck._

* * *

There was a loud crack, and Hermione could see nothing but flowing black. She fought for balance, and her right hand struck something hard and... woollen. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear a man's voice, absolute fury not at all disguised by the silky-smooth timbre.

As she was wracked by shivers, she realized that her vision hadn't stopped working after all; it was merely blocked by a wall of fabric. Someone had Apparated directly in front of her... _Professor Snape?_

* * *

Robes swirling around him in a most menacing fashion, Snape let the full weight of his anger settle on Rita Skeeter; the woman stumbled back and seemed to be on the verge of collapse herself at his precipitous entrance.

"You... you," was all she managed gasp out, doing a credible impression of a freshly-caught wide mouthed trout.

"Yes, me." The crowd behind Skeeter pressed backwards into the garden walls, looking like nothing more than terrified livestock. "You and I need to have a little talk about a certain book that you wrote... but that will have to wait for another time." He could feel Granger's hand at the small of his back, trembling.

"Unless things have changed, which I very much doubt, reporters are not allowed into St. Mungo's. And yet here you are, harassing people to get a story..." He flicked his wand at the photographer, who yipped as the camera turned red hot. The camera made a rewardingly loud noise as it hit the ground and shattered; absently, he noticed that the man had also wet himself.

In a flash of tartan, Minerva appeared alongside him. She had her wand out, and it appeared that she wanted badly to hex Skeeter.

"Lucky for you, it won't be I who decides your punishment." Reaching backwards, he secured Granger's arm within his grip and Apparated back to the waiting room.

It was an awkward landing. He heard Granger hit the floor with a thump; turning to assess her condition, he found that she was on her knees. Hyperventilating and sweating, her skin had gone alternately blotchy and pale. Her eyes were nothing more than dilated pupils, and shivers raced up and down her body.

"Granger," he said, but she didn't acknowledge his words. Crouching, he grabbed her chin and brought her head up to look at him. "Hermione... look at me!"

At those words, she shuddered and gazed up at him. Taking advantage of her wide-eyed stare, he pushed into her mind.

* * *

Battered by too many sensations, Hermione struggled to keep hold of the single thread of conscious left to her. She wasn't in the garden anymore, that much she could tell. She was cold. Freezing. Felt like she had been dipped into a arctic lake, nerves screaming. She had no control over her body or her thoughts.

Points of heat on her face; strong fingers guiding her head up... then his voice, echoing in the maelstrom of her mind. "Look at me..." Black eyes fierce upon hers. And with a jerk, there was something blazing and unyielding in her mind.

Flashes of memory; his death, blood. The dream, her parents and fire. So much death... "Look at me!"

The presence grabbed at her thoughts as strongly as the fingers on her chin had, and she found suddenly that she could breath again. She felt as if that solid woollen wall from the garden was in her mind, creating space between the memories and her thoughts. The ice melted away. Her body gave a shudder, and began to calm.

Professor Snape's face swam into view, a less than a metre away. She blinked, and could slowly feel various parts of her body come back under her control. Finally the presence pulled away from her thoughts, and she acutely felt the lack of heat in her mind.

"My apologies. I shall endeavour to not use that particular phrase around you." He spoke quietly.

She couldn't read the emotions on Professor Snape's face, could just tell that they were intense. Then the emotions were gone, and he was rising stiffly off the cold stone floor.

He loomed over her for a moment, and then extended a hand down to her. "Do you think that you can stand?"

She reached up. "There's only one way to find out." His hand was a warm contrast to her own. She wobbled for a second before her balance found an even keel. He released her.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Legilimency. It was the only way I could think to calm you down." His tone was wary.

"Oh." She thought about that for a beat. "Better than passing out, I guess."

"Indeed." This time, his tone was rather drier.

She flexed her hand, finally noticing that the muscle cramps had ceased as well. "The spasms stopped as well. Could legilimency work on Ginny?"

He shook his head. "No. You were conscious, and she is not; besides which, some of what you were experiencing," he chose his next words carefully, "was emotional, rather than purely physical."

"I was having a panic attack, you mean."

"Yes."

A commotion at the door interrupted the conversation. Minerva, Arthur, George and several Healers all crowded in; it was the Headmistress who got the first question in.

"Hermione, are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm fine..." She stopped when Professor Snape put up a quelling hand.

"Might I suggest that we postpone this conversation until after we begin treatment on Mrs. Potter?"

Healer Brightbrook stepped forward. "What do you need to start?"

"Several of the potions need to be heated and mixed, in addition to the dosage measured." He picked up the basket containing the brews of the table.

"Right this way," the healer pointed to door across the hallway.

Professor Snape turned back to her. "Do you wish to observe?"

"Yes," she said.

"Come along, then." In a flourish of robes, he strode out the doorway.

* * *

_**A/N: **Happy Sunday! Hope that you enjoyed- this has been my favorite chapter to write so far, and I think that it shows.  
_

_Beta-ing done by the always awesome Muggle Jane. Thanks for all of the follows, favs and comments!_

_An extra special reward for the first person who can correctly guess what film I'm referencing with the title of this chapter... _


	10. Ch 9- Denial is Just a River in Egypt

_**A/N: **Two steps forward and one step back... or is it one step forward and two steps back? I can never remember..._

* * *

_**Chapter 10 Denial is Just a River in Egypt**_

It was almost half past three in the morning by the time Snape was finally prepared to leave St. Mungo's. The day had only become more trying after the incident with Granger. Word had clearly gotten out around the hospital about his return from the dead. When he had ventured out of the potions laboratory, it had been to poorly hidden gawking and stark fear amongst the staff and patients. The stares had put him on edge; a chorus of his own second guessing had progressively muddied his thoughts as the day wore on.

Minerva had arrived along with dinner, bearing the wonderful news that his return- along with Granger's- was to be front page news. She had been apologetic, which had only served to make him more angry. Miracles of miracles, Healer Brightbrook had at least been a decent enough sort to work with; he had the added advantage of not being a former Hogwarts student, being from Canada.

It had also taken most of the day to get Ginevra Potter stabilized. She was still unconscious, but the Healer was cautiously optimistic that she would continue to improve. Other than that pronouncement, Brightbrook was unwilling to make any predictions about her or the baby's eventual health.

Granger had finally been dragged from the laboratory by George Weasley around eight PM; she'd continued to have muscle spasms for the rest of the day, although they remained relatively minor.

With a sigh of relief at the now empty corridors, he made for the Healer's Apparition Point. Turning the final corner, he sighted a man standing in the shadows. At his approach, the man stepped into the light. It was Lucius Malfoy.

"Fancy meeting you here," the man all but hissed. Two spots of red coloured his cheeks, giving a clear hint to the rage all-but-erupting-underneath.

"Lucius." _Damn the man. He couldn't wait until a decent hour to have this little conversation? _

"I understand that congratulations are in order." Malfoy's hands, he noted, were balled into tight fists.

"I will be returning to Hogwarts in the fall, yes."

"Funny how that works. I ask you to help Draco, and the answer is no. You cannot possibly bestir yourself to help your godson, should you risk your precious freedom. But the second Potter's little witch is ill, what do you do? You come running like a proper dogsbody, eager to throw yourself onto the altar of martyrdom once again..." His voice trailed off, dripping scorn.

Snape couldn't help it; he laughed, albeit bitterly. "You think that all this has to do with Potter? How little you know me, Lucius. My days watching over him ended when Voldemort died. He will sink or swim with no help from me, I assure you." He walked forward, robes rustling softly. "And have I not been assisting Draco? Have you not received several new potions in the last week alone?" Anger crept into his voice.

"Admit it, the reason for your anger is that you no longer have the illusion of control over me. You cannot use me for your own gain anymore. And we both know that being outmanoeuvred has always rendered you rather tetchy, hasn't it? But listen well: I will only say this once." He let his calm facade drop slightly; let the the man see the predator peek from his gaze.

"My life is my own, Lucius. I owe you nothing. I owe your son nothing. Whilst I will continue to provide Draco with whatever medicinal help I can provide, should I have the least little sense that you are plotting against me, or trying to use me, I will not hesitate to kill you." He smiled then, a feral and nasty grin of promise.

"Mark my words: my days of being a plaything for others are over. Stand in my way at your own peril." With that, he Apparated back to the cottage. Opening the door, he summoned several boxes and began to pack his things.

* * *

Three days later, Snape stood at the gates of Hogwarts. A rare March sun brightened the air, and the earth around him practically vibrated with fecund anticipation of the coming spring. From somewhere within the grounds, he could hear the sound of children's laughter, and caught a faint whiff of peat smoke.

Peering up at the castle, he registered the differences; there appeared to several new wings built off the main keep, and there were many more small bastions lining the outer walls. All in all, it seemed that changes had been made with defence in mind, rather than any sort of beautifying theme.

He knew that Hogwarts, long the repository for so much magic, was near enough a sentient thing as made no matter. The castle could, and had, protected it's inhabitants in ways large and small. From the moving stairways to the more obvious defensive structures, the castle had ways of making people feel welcomed or not.

As a student, he had often felt the comforting brush of magic, had found secret rooms and many a disused passageway in times of need. As a professor, the magic was more subtle; he had an awareness of where students were, and when they were up to mischief. When he brewed particularly difficult potions, he could feel the castle augmenting his own wards... and on the nights that he had returned from one of Voldemort's excruciating interrogation sessions, his dungeon rooms would be warm, and the solid walls seem to lend him the strength to block out the world around him. During his short and painful turn as headmaster, he had found it easy to manipulate the castle to in order thwart his fellow Death Eaters. From perpetually locking doors, shifting stairways and freezing drafts that no amount of warming charms or wool socks could combat, the castle had assisted him in making life difficult for Voldemort's minions.

What would his reception be this time? He had tortured students as headmaster; had allowed Death Eaters within the protective walls to do the same. Whilst he had Obliviated memories and covered up for the student's rebellious actives when at all possible, there were many occasions when the only way to insure his cover was to inflict damage. Ginevra Potter, for example, had been a frequent visitor to his office.

And so he stood at the gates, afraid to take the three steps forward that would bring him onto the grounds. _You'd better move before someone comes out and sees how long you've standing here, dithering like an old woman. Think; you have the blessing of current headmistress to come here. You won't be thrown out on your arse... hopefully._

The sound of children coming closer finally propelled him through the gates. For the first two strides, he felt nothing. Then, like a giant wave, he felt the magic of Hogwarts hit him. For an moment it enveloped him so strongly that he couldn't see beyond the nascent runes obscuring his vision; he could hear voices echoing about him... or was it memories? It was as if he were listening to a half-remembered language, body and mind straining to catch that all-important word that would lead to understanding.

Slowly, the magic around him ebbed, leaving him with a feeling of warm acceptance, of joy and homecoming. He found that he was standing on the steps to the castle, and the air carried hints of sweet clover honey, saffron and orange blossom. He blinked back tears, and the vivid recollections of his first moments at Hogwarts so many years before. The creak of the front door opening gave him enough warning to bury his emotions before Minerva's confused face appeared.

"What on earth was all that?" She open the door wider, and he could see down the dark length of the long hallway.

Voice a little husky, he replied, "I believe Hogwarts was saying hello."

"Oh." Her posture lost a bit of tension, even as her tone turned ceremonial and crisp. "As Headmistress of Hogwarts, I offer you sanctuary and protection within our walls for as long as you wish it; I ask only that you stand with us in times of need, and do not violate our rules of community. Do you accept these conditions?"

He looked at her, nonplussed to hear the formal address of sanctuary. "I do, and so swear it." He felt again the press of magic, this time like a gentle caress.

"Then be welcome within our walls, Severus Tobias Snape." She stepped back and smiled at him, clearly picking up on his surprise. "Come up to my office. We have some time yet before lunch, and I would like to get you settled in before the hallways get too chaotic." She started forward.

He didn't move. "Why, Minerva?"

She peered back over her shoulder at him. "Offers of employment can be rescinded by the Governors of Hogwarts. Formal and sworn offers of sanctuary made by the Headmistress, on the other hand, cannot. As I am sure you are aware, a certain member of the Board is none-too-pleased with you. I merely wish to ensure that your stay here lasts longer than a fortnight."

* * *

Several hours later, he found himself comfortably ensconced in a tower suite, unpacking the many boxes that the house-elves had fetched. The suite was spacious, larger in fact than the cottage, and far more luxurious. Located in one of the new north-facing wings, the apartment possessed a sitting room with a compact kitchenette, bedroom, office, and bathroom; a corridor opening off the main room led to a sizeable workroom, and a second, smaller set of quarters, "should you want to take on an apprentice," according to Minerva. He had balked at that suggestion, but she had simply thrown up a placating hand and told him all of the new tower suites had similar accommodations.

The sitting room, bedroom and office all had large windows that looked out over the castle. His first act of ownership had been to change the view; rather than the northerly aspect of the Castle, he charmed it instead to feature the southern view of the lake, hills and forest. He spent the remainder of the morning transfiguring the furniture to his taste. Several more bookcases were needed, and he got rid of two armchairs in favour of enlarging the dining table.

He fell into a easy rhythm shelving books until it struck him rather forcibly that he was... happy. Not content, nor at peace, but happy. The sheer absurdity of that notion... _You have utterly destroyed the peace that you have enjoyed over the last four years, have willingly re-entered the public sphere, and will soon be front and centre in what will, in all likelihood, be a giant shit-storm ... and you find yourself happy? My, haven't we become a masochist in our old age... _

He sat down heavily on the sofa, and the flood of what-ifs, memories, and fears that the last several months had generated nearly unmanned him. His thoughts roiled like a Pensieve on high heat. Minerva and her bloody Patronus, the truth in Lucius' pointed comments... and the cold and terrible grief of Granger's mind. The magnitude of what he had done made him want to howl. He had purposely made himself vulnerable, had started to reach for things... had wanted things. _Not things_, he amended. _You want people, and... relationships. What were you thinking? You couldn't manage your temper and desires as a student, nor later as a member of staff. What makes you think that you can waltz back in now, with ever so much more baggage, and not fuck things up again? _

Want. Need. Those two intertwining feelings had been at the root of his downfall time and time again. He had wanted impossible things from the time he had been a small boy. Had been taught endlessly about the futility of wants, but had not learned from the many times his unsatisfied desires had blown up in his face.

His problem, he knew, was that when he wanted things, or people, he wanted them far too strongly. His intensity, his overpowering love for Lily had been the true reason that she had never forgiven him; their fight, and his use of the hated word 'mudblood' had only been a convenient excuse. She had cared, and cared deeply about him, but had not loved him in the same way he had. The depth of his feelings had scared her, and she'd ran... straight into the arms of James Potter.

His desire for control and power had led him to study the Dark Arts as a young child; his thirst for vengeance and need for personal acknowledgment had been behind the decision to side with Voldemort and become a Death Eater. His interactions with Dumbledore on the night Lupin had nearly killed him had shown him that the Headmaster had thought him a lost cause, and his life a negligible loss over that of his chosen Gryffindors. Voldemort had been the only person to want him, to value him in anything other than an abstract, genial fashion.

In return, he'd given Voldemort everything, including his soul. Under the Dark Lord's tutelage he had indulged all his wants and needs for brief period of time. But it had not made him feel better; it had only made him want more. Then it had come time to pay the piper, and the price was Lily. So he'd gone back to Dumbledore, had beggared himself in an effort to save her. For all that they had not spoken in years, and that she had never forgiven him, he loved her still. He had gladly bartered his soul a second time, knowing that Dumbledore would never see him as anything other than another weapon in his arsenal.

Unfortunately, he had been right about how Dumbledore viewed him. And sometime after Lily had been murdered, he had started to think of himself as a weapon as well. Weapons were useful, after all, and weapons didn't have feelings about the tasks that they were asked to perform. It had become easier to deny himself the things that he craved after that. He had told Granger the brutal truth; had he been able to completely sever that part of him that cared, that part of him that wanted others to care about him, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

_You don't get to live. You only survive; it's one of the few things that you excel at. _

And now... now he wanted so much. Again.

With that thought, Severus Snape did the one thing that he abhorred more than anything; he ran, and he hid.

* * *

As Hermione peddled her bicycle up the main street, she exhaled with the uncomplicated joy that came from feeling like herself. After spending several months shuttling back and forth between the Muggle world and that of Magic, she had spent the last week living almost entirely within the non-magical realm. The constant shifting between selves had left her exhausted and unsettled; the kicker had been, of course, her day in St. Mungo's.

Today, however? It was the first day of spring. There were two bright daffodils standing tall and proud in her flower box, and she had several friends from the department coming over for dinner and games. It struck her then, how much easier her life was as a Muggle. It was cleaner, and free of the many gradients that resulted in her magical life being rendered into grey, rather than the clear blacks and whites of her Muggle existence.

However, she could hear like a tiny clock in her head, an insistent countdown to a decision. She knew that she would have to make a choice between what world to live in, and soon. She couldn't keep shifting back and forth; it would mean constantly shorting one side for the other and remaining perpetually out of balance.

Her life in Aberystwyth was one of simple pleasures and pursuits. It gave her space and silence, and it was safe. As a witch? There was the duel-edged sword of having her past and friends back. And oh, how she loved working and thinking about complex magic. It made her blood sing; it was like watching a picture go from the page to real life. But there were monsters standing in the shadows, and even the shadows...

She didn't have to decide today. Or tomorrow, for that matter. Tonight, she was cooking fresh lamb chops and eating with her friends. Everything else would wait.

* * *

**_Author's Postscript: _**_Wow, so the the reactions that last week's chapters garnered blew me away. I'm thrilled that you all enjoyed them as much as I did. :) Welcome, and thank you to the twenty new people who followed the story! In particular, I want to give my thanks to LoveInTheBattleField, Smithback, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, Modges, risi, Btterflykiss69, AuroraMcGonagall, a guest, and Aliana who were all so kind as to also leave reviews. An additional high-five to Luna de Papel, who read the story from the start and left notes with each chapter; I really enjoyed reading them and seeing your reaction as things went down! Keep up the comments, s'il vous plaît! _

_My apologies for only having one chapter up and ready to post this week; for some reason, my principal does not accept writing Harry Potter fanfiction as a valid reason for missing work. Boo, real life! So for those of you who PM'd me yesterday about an update, never fear, I have not abandoned the story. My goal is to post two chapters a week, but I also like to be three to four chapters ahead as to better control any rabid plot bunnies. That meant only one chapter this week :( _

_Incidentally__, I actually lived on an island in middle of denial.. or rather, the Nile, for five years. One could argue that whilst I may not still be in Cairo, I am still in denial some years later :) _

_Finally, much love to Muggle Jane who not only talked me off the cliff after the first draft of this chapter, but also worked her wonderful SPaG-y magic in short order. _


	11. Chapter 10- Help Yourself

_**Chapter 11 Help Yourself**_

Snape spent the next two weeks absolutely pissed, vacillating between fear and anger. Drunken oblivion, however, did not quiet the twin voices that taunted him. _What have I done? _and _What are you going to do now?_ rang out endlessly in his head. He did not leave his suite, and amazingly enough, Minerva and the rest of the staff let him be. Other than the furtive presence of cleaning house-elves, he was left to do exactly as he pleased. So he drank, and when he ran out of alcohol, he started to raid his potions stores.

Accordingly, he woke up naked on the floor; or rather, he re-gained consciousness sometime midday to a blinding sunlight branding him with what was surely to be a wicked sunburn. Crawling over to one of his unpacked boxes, he fished out a phial of hangover cure out and swallowed in one go. Proceeding to drag his sorry corpse to the shower, and sat under scalding hot water until he felt marginally alive. After dressing, he downed a second phial of the hangover cure, and summoned a house-elf for food.

Basic needs taken care of, he sat numbly at the kitchen table, debating if he could make it to the bed to sleep, or if the sofa was the safer bet. Slowly, it dawned on him that duelling voices in his head had finally gone silent. Taking that as a hint, he made for the sofa. Unconsciousness quickly followed.

* * *

When he woke again, it was the ripening purples of dusk and an insistent knocking at the door.

Flinging the door open expecting to find the Headmistress, he was startled to find a student and hastily bit off the scathing greeting on his tongue. He stared, wondering if the boy was some sort of drink-induced hallucination. He would have sworn that Minerva had told him that the floor had been warded to prevent students from entering...

"Are you quite finished?" the dark haired child drawled, his manner and tone such a spot on reproduction of Lucius Malfoy that he was reduced to blinking stupidly down at him.

The boy's robes proclaimed him Slytherin. Whilst he wore a prefect's badge, his face still had the soft edges of youth; he couldn't be more than fifteen. A fifth year perhaps?

"Children," Snape said, placing heavy emphasis on the first word, "...are not allowed on this floor."

"And yet, here I am." the boy stated flatly. "To repeat: are you finished hiding in your rooms, or will I be forced to go to the Headmistress for help?"

He glared down at the boy, feeling the oncoming weight of responsibilities bearing down upon him. _What are you going to do, Severus Snape? _taunted that damnable voice again.

"In." He ground out, and opened the door wider. The boy walked past him with a satisfied swish of robes.

Snape followed him in, and lowered himself back onto the sofa gratefully. The boy chose to stand with his back to the windows, the fading twilight granting his countenance a nimbus of mystery. He had the smooth cheeked appearance of a child well-loved and cared for, and his strong and symmetrical face held the promise of forthcoming masculine beauty.

"Who are you?" he finally asked.

"Aelius Greengrass. I am the Slytherin Prefect."

"_The _Slytherin Prefect?" he queried.

"There are only thirty-six of us. There are no Slytherin seventh years, and only two sixth years, both of whom wanted nothing to with House Duties. The girl that was made prefect along with me left at the start of the year. Thus, I am the only Slytherin Prefect."

"And the Headmistress did not see fit to promote another in her place? Professor Slughorn did not step into the breach?" His head started to pound, and he could feel the beginnings of anger stirring.

"There were no suitable fifth-years to take her place; I convinced Headmistress McGonagall that we should be left to handle our own matters. She allowed it." Snape noted that Greengrass did not address that matter of Slughorn.

"And clearly, that was a wise choice as you are now at my door, requesting aid." he said with no little sarcasm.

Anger flickered in the boy's eyes. "We were perfectly fine until you decided to return. Given that you are the reason the entire House is in a state of disorder, it only seemed fair that you be part of the solution. Unless, of course, you would prefer to continue hiding. In that case, I'm sure the Headmistress will be more than happy to assist Slytherin House..." Greengrass matched his sarcasm with equal snideness.

"As you have pointed out several times, I have not left my quarters. I fail to see how I could have been the cause of any sort of petty drama or House issues." Snape rose from the sofa, fighting the urge pace. To run.

"Oh, really? Let us think: Seven years ago, you unleashed a killing curse on the remaining Death Eaters. Do you know how many current Slytherins lost a parent or close family member to that little bit of magic? More than half of us!" Rage darkened the boy's treble tone to a deeper baritone. "For some reason, the Slytherins are are rather afraid of what will happen once you take control of the House. I can't imagine why!"

The boy's words were like a bucket of cold water, effectively dousing his temper. Drawing up the cold shields of Occlumency, he pulled his flailing thoughts inward and submerged them into the far depths of his mind.

The urge to pace abruptly disappeared; he found himself looming over the boy in a intimidating pose that would familiar with countless generations of Hogwarts students. He stayed silent for a long moment, until the ire in the boy crystallized into fear. Finally, he spoke.

"You will call a House meeting in the common room an hour from now. Everyone will be present; I will tolerate no excuses nor absences. Is that understood, Mr. Greengrass?"

Pale faced, the boy nodded. "Go." Greengrass made for the door. "And Mr. Greengrass- do not make the mistake of forgetting... you requested my assistance."

* * *

Snape stood at the window for a moment, looking out into the placid depths of the lake. Aware he was doing nothing more than stalling, he pushed away from the window and walked to the bedroom. Opening up the wardrobe, he selected a set of his more formal robes. At first glance, they appeared to be nothing more than his normal black wool. Under candlelight however, the fabric shimmered with a faint dark green sheen. _Let them not forget that I too am a Slytherin..._

As he stripped off his t-shirt, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The two previous weeks had not been kind. He had lost weight, and so long without running meant that he looked skinny rather than merely lean. His complexion, never a becoming shade of white, was yellowed-tinged, and his upper body was littered with various scars and hex-marks. Most prominent, of course, was the vivid remains of Nagini's bite and the faded Dark Mark. _Well, at least you don't have to do much to look the part of a monster. _

Casting a quick cleaning charm on the robes, he pulled on a white undershirt and began to button up the many fastenings of the frock coat. He could of used a charm for that task as well, but he'd found over the years that the mechanical, repetitive act of buttoning served to mentally re-enforce the public persona that he wished to project; it was like strapping on armour. Lastly, he pulled his dragon-hide boots over wool socks.

He looked at the mirror a final time. Gone were the Muggle clothes. Gone were any fears, doubts or vulnerabilities. Professor Snape had returned to Hogwarts.

* * *

Snape strode through the dark stone hallways of Hogwarts as if eight years had not eclipsed. He came upon several groups of students in the corridors; the first, a group of Ravenclaws, had frozen in place with identical looks of silent terror, appearing for all the world as if they had been petrified. As he passed three Hufflepuffs near the Great Hall, one student screamed and ran other direction while the others huddled together in a tight ball. He gave the group a look of withering scorn, and continued down to Horace Slughorn's quarters and office.

He knocked on the door perfunctorily; without waiting for an answer, he opened it and walked in. The wards were so poorly cast that even a first year would have no problem entering. _Indolent, stupid man!_ Stepping through the wildly disorganized office to the private rooms beyond, he found similar chaos. The rooms had been decorated in Slughorn's typically ostentatious style, and there were small piles of paper, books and miscellanea stacked on every available surface. The house-elves had managed to keep the rubbish under control, but it made little difference in the grand scheme of things.

Slughorn was dozing on the sofa; his red and blue striped pyjamas clashed horribly with the plaid chintz of the cushions. He stirred when Snape pushed a pile of books from a straight-backed chair to the floor and sat down.

"Severus..." Slughorn slurred. _Merlin, are there any professors left at Hogwarts who haven't taken to drinking? Next I'll find that Flitwick has a long standing drug habit. _"I wondered when you'd be down to see me. I don't mind telling you, I was right chuffed when Minerva told me that you'd be coming back... " The man's eyes drooped from half-mast to mostly shut as his voice trailed off. Slughorn was as bad off as Minerva had described; indeed, he had aged even worse than she had.

"Undoubtedly," Snape intoned, voice causing Slughorn's rheumy eyes to focus again on him, "You will be doubly pleased then when I tell you that I will be taking over Head of House duties from this point onward."

"Oh... you will? Bless you, Severus." Slughorn smiled, looking as if the weight of the world had been taken off his rounded shoulders. "I don't suppose that you've reconsidered picking up the teaching load as well?"

"No. That will be yours until end of term."

"No harm in asking, is there? Still though, you will find that there is little to do. Shouldn't disturb you at all. There are so few Slytherins, and the Greengrass boy takes care of most everything. Why, I can't recall the last time I even had to deal with any students outside of office hours..."

The man chuckled a little sleepily, the siren call of unconsciousness clearly winning. "Any problems you have will come from the other Houses... but you already know that. You should have seen the reactions to the news of your return. Minerva announced it at dinner several weeks back. Put everyone off their chow, it did... The students sent out so many letters that the Owlery was empty for a week. And the headlines of the newspapers! Calling for Minerva's head, each and everyone of them."

"And how did the Slytherins react to the news?" He kept his voice uninflected.

It took Slughorn several seconds to reply. "Not a peep amongst them. Just kept eating. No one's come to me with a problem..." His head started to nod into the armrest.

Snape rose and watched Slughorn, fighting the urge to hex the sleeping man. _Little wonder Minerva was willing to welcome me back with open arms. The utter neglect of the man! As if any Slytherin would be so open as to display emotions of that sort... _With that thought, he turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

Snape did not run into any other students during his second sojourn down the halls of Hogwarts. Instead, he turned a corner and found Minerva waiting for him. Anger crackled through him at the sight of her.

"Do you have anything to say to me, Headmistress?" he fairly snarled.

She gazed back him, face calm except for the stubborn tilt of her chin. He found the gesture oddly reminiscent of Granger. "Only that I trust you, Severus."

"Any other placating words before I go in?"

"The password is _victis honor._" She stepped back, hands decorously clasped together. A picture of demure, uncomplicated womanhood if there ever was one. _Not as manipulative as Dumbledore my arse! _

"Honour to the vanquished? How... appropriate." Sparing her a final glare, he swept past her and made for the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon.

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **Happy weekend once again! As always, I want to start by thanking my beta, Muggle Jane, and all you wonderful readers. It so fun to read your reactions to this story! It definitely lets me know if I am on the right track. Shout outs to Fire The Canon, SlytherinWitch1, punkyredhead, LoveInTheBattleField, Luna de Papel, orlando switch, and Smithback who all left comments- they are much appreciated! P__unkyredhead, great comment first of all, and you so far have come closest to correctly guessing the origins of the chapter title "Excrement and Oscillators. I'll give you another hint- this is an older film that shares a birth year with Harry Potter, and it also taught me to never order the fish. Surely that's clear enough? _  


_____Orlando switch, your comment was spot on. Indeed, "switching from survival to actually fully living your life is one of the most difficult things to do." It is a truly sisyphean task, and one I would not wish on my worst enemy. _

_____And alas, Luna De Papel, if you did not like the ending to the previous chapter, I fear that you will not like this one. A cliff is a cliff, no matter how skillfully disguised..._

_____And finally, thanks to all of the new folks who followed and favourited the story this week. I love getting to learn a little about those who are reading, and best of all, what other stories you recommend!_

_____Coming up Tomorrow: A Showdown at the Slytherin Corral..._


	12. Chapter 11- Dark Don't Hide It

_**Chapter 11 At Least the Dark Don't Hide it**_

Snape fought off momentary déjà vu as the stone wall that marked the passageway into the common room dissolved. _How many times have I walked under this snake carved lintel? Fifty thousand times? A hundred thousand? _He could hear no noise issuing from the end of the corridor; the only signs of life came from the flickering illumination of torchlight at the end. He marched forward, footfalls creating an echoing counterpoint to his beating heart. Abruptly, his sense of the absurd re-asserted itself; he fought the desire to hum the Imperial March. _Playing the role of Darth Vader tonight is Severus Snape..._

The common room was much as he remembered it. New chairs and tables, but the gothic arches and green light remained unchanged. The students were a pitiful mass to one corner, with Greengrass standing shield at the helm. The boy's face was still ashen, but his expression was set in a mulish tint. _Good on him. At least one Slytherin has some fight left._ Counting the assemblage gathered behind the prefect, Snape was relieved to see that all were present, such as they were. He recognized about half of them, either from meeting them as small children, or in their resemblance to wider family relations.

A stranger walking in would have only seen a group of bored and haughty youths; Snape easily saw behind the facade to the jumble of emotions underneath. Fear was foremost, seen clearly in the remnants of sleepless nights, in fingernails bit to the quick and still bloody. Anger projected from squared shoulders and balled fists. Exhaustion, and sorrow... _How in hell am I going to fix all this? _

Snape moved again, robes rippling after him. The combined weight of thirty-six accusing eyes followed him as he positioned himself in front of the fireplace. _So... where to begin? __Might as well give them a common enemy._

"Mr. Greengrass, take a seat." _They may have elected him as leader, but I'll not have him thinking that he has any right to challenge me. _

The boy didn't move; if anything his expression hardened further in obstinacy. Before Snape could do more than narrow his gaze, a mousy girl in the second row of students drew her wand and summoned a chair directly behind Greengrass. He sat with a fastidious twitch of his robes. _Make that two Slytherins with fight. All the better._

"Your name, girl." She didn't flinch.

"Meredith Farley."

"Year?" The prefect shifted slightly in his chair; Greengrass neither liked his line of questioning, nor the target. _You didn't really think I would let you win a power contest, did you? _

"Third." the girl answered. _Young. But not too young to become the second prefect. _

He broadened his regard to encompass the entire group again. Without glancing down, he began to unbutton the fastenings on his left sleeve. The students stirred uneasily at this; more than a few were clutching at wands. Snape rolled up the sleeve, exposing the faded Dark Mark. He turned his arm outward so that all could see the livid scar.

"I joined the Death Eaters gladly, and of my own free will. I wanted power, as well as vengeance upon those who had wronged me. I received none of those things. Instead, Voldemort murdered the person I cared most for." He kept his voice flat. The words were far too blunt, and carried too many emotions as it was, but the children deserved some sort of explanation.

"That is why I betrayed Voldemort, and why I killed the remaining Death Eaters. It was retribution. I do not regret it; I do regret that I lived through it, and for the pain my actions brought. It will be cold comfort to those of you whom the final curse affected, but I meant to take my own life, as I am just as guilty as those I condemned."

Methodically, he unrolled his sleeve and began to button it anew. The room was silent.

"Should you have any further questions or commentary regarding my actions, you will come to me and we shall discuss it in private." _May no one take me up on that particular offer..._

"Now, as you all are aware, I will be returning to my previous position as Potions Master in the fall. I have just finished speaking with Professor Slughorn about matters; it has been agreed that I will resume Head of House duties immediately." A barely visible stir went through the students at that last comment.

"I do not care who your parents are, or were, or what side they fell on during the wizarding wars. I am also not Professor Slughorn; your connections or blood status mean nothing to me. Slytherins have always prized the traits of leadership, determination, fraternity and cleverness; these are the only things that will bring favour in this House from now on." There was no reaction to this, other than faint whiff of disbelief.

"There will be regular office hours, and my door will always be open should you find yourself in need of guidance. If you are not comfortable coming directly to me, speak with Mr. Greengrass, and he will promptly bring any concerns to my attention."

"I will also be holding meetings with each of you individually to ascertain where you stand academically. These meetings will happen as soon as I have finished settling in. There will be a weekly assemblage to go over House matters as a group."

He fixed his gaze on Greengrass for a long breath. "Do you have any further issues that need be addressed tonight?"

The stubbornness in the prefect had been replaced by a thoughtful wariness. "No, sir." _Smart boy. I only hope that you continue to recognize where our true battles lay._

"Very well. Mr. Greengrass, you will come to my quarters tomorrow night after supper. I assume you can manage that feat again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I bid you all a good evening." He got up, and left the common room without a backward glance.

* * *

For a third time that evening, Snape found himself moving through the dim corridors of the castle. The hallways were completely empty, lacking even a spectral presence. He had meant to go to Minerva's office and bawl her out, but instead found himself standing outside the hospital wing, dithering yet again. A solitary lamp pierced the dark of the main treatment room, and he found himself drawn its light like an allegorical moth. As he drew closer, he could see the small form of Poppy Pomfrey bent over her desk, quill gently scratching in an oversized leather book.

He ghosted closer, stopping just shy of the comforting circle of lamplight. Even in repose, Poppy exuded a maternal warmth that transformed her unremarkable features into something extraordinarily lovely. Moreover, she possessed a rare duality of both tenacity and circumspection; whilst she was unwavering in her devotion to healing, she also understood when it was best to let questions lie unanswered. It was the latter trait that had finally convinced Snape to place his trust in her so many years prior.

As a student, he had had spent countless evenings in her ward recovering from various ailments. Poppy had always been able to read him; had known when he'd allow mothering, and when he needed to be simply fixed and allowed to scurry away into the dark. Most memorably, she had sat by his side on the endless night after Lupin had nearly killed him in the Shrieking Shack, her smooth hands stroking his forehead and arm, vainly trying to project comfort through the implacable wall of his terror.

He had not been surprised when Dumbledore made it clear the following morning that it was his Gryffindors that he cared about, and that Sirius would face no real consequences for luring Snape into Lupin's path. No, what had come as a surprise was watching Poppy call Sirius into the ward- and oh, how the boy been cocky and self-sure- and proceeded to deliver a ruthless and shockingly personal denouncement of his behaviour. Something had broken in him that night, however, and combined with Lily's loss of friendship, he had stopped coming to Poppy for succour. It had been simply too painful to accept any type of care.

It had been well into his final year at Hogwarts when Poppy had ultimately caught him limping around the castle. Her blue eyes were sorrowful as the diagnostic charm had uncovered the totality of his half-treated wounds. "If you won't come to me for aid," she had said, with a fleeting touch to his shoulder, "...then I will teach you the most useful healing spells." And so she'd done exactly that; had even taken him to St. Mungo's to practice with a group of apprentice healers until she was satisfied that he could adequately mend himself.

Snape, as a professor, had little contact with her until Voldemort had risen again. Voldemort's thorough and frequent torture sessions had quickly outstripped his healing abilities, and on some nights, hers. But what little rapprochement that had developed was destroyed when, as Headmaster, he had sent a student to her after Alecto Carrow had 'questioned' him about his affiliations. His shame had been so great that he could not bear to look at her; after that, he had made a conscientious effort to stay well clear of the Healer lest she repudiate him as well.

He had almost decided to leave the ward when she stirred, free hand idly reaching up to rub the back of her neck as if finally registering his proximity. Turning to face the darkness, she saw him. Eyes widening, her mouth formed a perfect 'oh' of astonishment before she rose in flurry of lavender-scented fabric. Quite suddenly, he found himself being fiercely embraced by the diminutive witch. Then he was hugging her back, the battle to keep his emotions at bay completely lost.

It was like being embraced by the magic of the castle all over again. He felt the same feelings of wonderment, of joy and homecoming. Mostly he was just overwhelmed that Poppy wasn't mad at him, the unambiguous greeting making her emotions perfectly obvious.

"Oh, Severus..." she said as they finally pulled apart. Tears ran freely down her face.

He didn't trust his voice just then. Instead, he pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his pocket, and carefully wiped the moisture off her cheeks. Reaching down, he tucked the cloth into her hand and squeezed it shut.

"I am so grateful that you are alive." Smiling, she drew him forward into her office and pushed him down into chair.

"Do you know," he started, then stopped to clear his throat, "... that you are not the only person to say that to me recently?"

She chuckled a little, and started to fuss with a teapot and cups. "Minerva?"

"No, actually." He accepted a cup, noting that she had remembered that he liked two sugars and a splash of milk. "Hermione Granger. She came to see me several weeks ago about a potions project. She shared an nearly identical sentiment over dinner."

Poppy's eyebrows rose at that. "Dare I ask how you handled that delicate situation, Severus?"

"I bit her head off, naturally." She laughed, and he found himself smiling back at her. "How else was I to respond?"

"A thank you might not have been amiss." Her eyes were gently chiding over the teacup. "Did you apologize?"

"No, I did not." He paused, waiting to see if he could get a rise out of her. But she only looked knowingly at him, a faint smile lingering on her face. "I did one better. I agreed to continue working with her," he grudgingly admitted.

She looked like she wanted to laugh again. "I'm happy to hear that you haven't lost all manners or good sense. Just bear in mind, Severus, that people- women in particular- like to hear words every so often, not just benefit from actions." Shadows briefly dimmed the light of her face. "She's a woman that has lost more than most. Don't be too rough on her."

"I won't be." The sat in contemplative silence for several minutes.

"I've come to you about the Slytherins."

"So you didn't just come up to the ward to have a visit with me?" Her voice was dryly teasing.

Snape looked down at his empty cup, and then back at her, willing her to understand the depth of feelings running through him. He must have succeeded, because her gaze grew misty once again. His tone was unequivocal when he answered. "I came to see you. Consulting about my Slytherins is just a stroke of fortuitous efficiency."

"They are mess, each and everyone of them."

A little bitterness creep through. "Aren't we all, Poppy? Tell me what you can."

* * *

It took almost two hours to go over the histories from the thirty-six members of Slytherin House. Poppy walked him back to the door of the hospital ward when they were done; both were grim faced and tired.

"Now, you won't be hiding from me again, will you Severus?" she asked.

"No, Poppy." He looked up and away before continuing. "I'm too tired to run anymore. I want some of sort life. I want... many things. I have spent far too many years of my life being used by others. This time, I intend on things being different."

Her hand, golden and perfect, came out of the dark to cup his face gently. He felt the wordless embrace of her magic imparting a blessing upon him. Then she lean forward and hugged him again, all lavender and soft warmth. He returned the gesture, and gratefully let his chin rest on the top of her head.

Home.

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **__Awwww... So I must admit, this was not the ending that I had planned for this chapter. Snape was going to find Minerva and read her the riot act; then he would go back to his rooms and pout more. Imagine my shock when he refused to do as ordered, instead handling his feelings in an adult and productive manner... _

_It's such a lovely surprise when the characters you are creating seem to come to life, and the story takes you down unknown paths. I can't tell you how much joy that the act of writing and posting has brought me over the past month. The impetus for this story came from reading other, very excellent pieces, but wishing that things had happened differently. I finally decided that I'd just write the story that I wanted to read... and now you are 11 chapters in. So for you dear readers that haven't taken the plunge into writing your own stories and want to, just do it! From a rather rough and cliché start, this grown into something that I am rather proud of. _

_And for those of you who would have rather seen Snape and Minerva duke it out... write your own story! Or, keep reading. I promise you, the two will have it out in the near future. _

_Happy Sunday, and thanks to my beta, Muggle Jane, and to all those who read, comment, fav and follow. _


	13. Chapter 12- Waiting to Exhale

_**Chapter 13 Waiting to Exhale **_

It was nearing the end of April when Hermione received an email from Professor Snape asking if she would come up to Hogwarts and assist with another trial run of charms. The idea did not fill her with any joy; although she had agreed to work with him at the school, she wasn't at all keen on returning and facing down her memories of the place.

They had slowly resumed their correspondence over the previous month; she learned from Neville that Professor Snape had returned to the Castle, and in a sudden and unexpected move, had taken over Slytherin Head of House duties. The man in question, naturally, had not mentioned any of these things in his emails. Indeed, there had not been a single whit of anything personal in his letters.

She should have been grateful, she supposed, that he was even writing to her in the first place. But she couldn't help but miss the more open and freewheeling discourse that had occurred in their original missives. Part of problem lay with her, she knew; she couldn't forget that she was writing to Professor Snape, and as a result, was more hesitant in putting forth ideas and arguments. Their debates had also reached the limits of her potions knowledge, and while she was spending as much of her spare time as she could reading the potions selections he had recommended, the fact remained that she could not make up for eight years of disuse in a matter of months.

Hermione spent the next several days wavering in a state of ambivalence over whether or not she would take Professor Snape up on his invitation. Finally, late on Thursday night, she sent him a short email agreeing to meet him in Hogsmeade the following Saturday morning. _Just get it over with; you have as many good memories there as not. Surely it won't be as bad as all that..._

* * *

She spent Friday night at the Burrow; it had become her custom to have supper with the elder Weasleys once a week. George joined them on occasion, and twice, to her great surprise, Percy arrived just as they were sitting down to eat. He was not the pompous youth that she recollected. While he was still prone to monologues, he had, at some point, developed a dry sense of humour that made his company pleasant rather than something to be endured.

Her relationships with the rest of the Weasleys had otherwise not altered. She and Ron had started up an awkward, if regular correspondence; Harry had met her for lunch several times in London. But Ginny... Ginny had refused to budge on the topic of Hermione's return. No one, including Hermione, had been willing to press the issue give her delicate health.

Ginny was still at St. Mungo's. She had spent a week in a Healer-induced coma before being allowed to regain consciousness. It had been decided that, as the cause of her seizures was unknown, it would be best to keep her at hospital until the baby was born; she had almost two months left until her due date.

Hermione watched Molly Weasley move easily about the kitchen preparing breakfast; the woman had been in full-on mothering mode since her arrival the night before. She'd even offered to accompany her to Hogwarts. Hermione had seriously considered the idea, before deciding that the bigger fuss she made of her return to the school, the harder it would ultimately be.

The meal was a quiet affair, with Arthur and Molly carrying most of the conversational load. Finally, to her relief, it was time for to leave. Molly gave her a brief squeeze at the back door; Arthur, from the table, simply said, "Let us know how everything goes, will you?"

She nodded. "I will. Thank you for breakfast, Molly." Walking to end of the garden path, Hermione Apparated to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Despite the early hour, the Three Broomsticks held a lively and large crowd. It was like stepping back into time, so little had changed amongst the dark beams and wooden tables; she had to stop herself when she found that she was scanning the faces not for Professor Snape, but for Ron and Harry. Eventually, she spotted him sitting with Madame Pomfrey in a back corner. She noted, as she manoeuvred through the crowd, that there was a full row of empty tables between the pair and the rest of the patrons.

Madame Pomfrey was telling a story, if the bright expression on her face and smoothly gesticulating hands were any indication. Hermione turned her gaze to Professor Snape, and nearly stumbled. He looked utterly changed, the differences going far beyond any modification in wardrobe or hairstyle. For one thing, he was not wearing the dour expression that she remembered seeing in many of his former interactions with Hogwarts staff. Rather, he wore a faint smile, and there was something in his dark gaze that spoke to a strong interest in what the Healer was saying. More than that, he appeared to be... relaxed. She had never seen him thusly; as student he always seemed to be radiating between extreme rage or icy derision. There were no lines of tension running through his tall frame, and he displayed none of the hallmarks of exhaustion or wariness that she was accustom to.

He turned then, eyes focusing in on her through the jostling crowd, and she saw a subtle shift in his posture; he lost an element of openness that had been there seconds before. Still, his countenance remained calm and polite, and both he and Madame Pomfrey rose when she at last approached their table.

"I wasn't expecting you to save me an entire section's worth of chairs," she said, trying to cover up her uncertainty and nerves with a joke. "Really, one chair would have sufficed."

Her comment earned a laugh from Madame Pomfrey. "I do believe the students are afraid of sitting any closer. They must be worried that they will catch a case of scrofungulus from me; I've been treating it all week in the hospital wing."

"Of course, Poppy. It must be that the students are terrified of catching something from you." Professor Snape said, dryly. "Surely, there is no other reason for their fear." He still wore that slight smile.

At that, Madame Poppy reprovingly tapped him on the arm. "I am quite sure, Severus, that it has to do entirely with my presence. When have you known me to be wrong?"

"As you say," he intoned gravely. Turning to Hermione, he inclined his head. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sir," she responded in kind. Madame Pomfrey leaned over then, and gave her a warm hug and kiss on the cheek.

"It's lovely to see you again, Hermione. How have you been?"

"Well enough, Madame Pomfrey. Yourself?"

"It's been a most joyous spring, although as busy as ever. And call me Poppy, please. We are far too removed from your student years to keep with all that formality."

"I'll try to remember." She pointed towards the clusters of students in the bar. "Although it doesn't seem like it's been that all that long since I was a student. I almost feel like I could find Ron and Harry somewhere in here."

"Perish the thought," Professor Snape said. "I assure you that for some of us, we cannot be removed far enough from your collective student days."

"Manners, Severus," injected Madame Pomfrey teasingly. He shot Poppy a faux-stern look, leaving Hermione once again astounded at the alterations.

Professor Snape indicated to the third chair at the table. "Would you like something before we go on to the Castle?"

"No, thank you. If you are finished, I would prefer to get started." With that statement, Hermione could feel the nerves in her belly ratchet up another notch; she wasn't altogether sure if she could have kept anything else down if she tried.

He nodded. "Very well. Poppy, would you like me to take some of your packages back for you?"

"I would appreciate that. However, if you've no objections, I'll walk back with you. It's just about time to check on several students on the ward."

Professor Snape looked at her. "Do you have any issue with walking back to the gates, rather than Apparating?"

"No, the walk will do me good," she said. Professor Snape put several Galleons on the table as Poppy drew on a cloak. After picking up the wrapped packages, the trio made their way to the door. Hermione couldn't help but notice the silence that fell over the students as they exited; she wondered what the reception was like for Professor Snape in the school proper.

They were stopped just past the door by young student; he was a handsome lad, and showed a confidence and composure that she couldn't recall Ron or Harry ever possessing at that age. Come to think, she wasn't sure they had it presently...

"Good Morning, Professor Snape, Madame Pomfrey," the boy said, and gave her a polite bow.

"Mr. Greengrass, allow me to introduce you to one of Hogwarts more illustrious alumina, Doctor Hermione Granger." Professor Snape turned to Hermione. "This is Mr. Aelius Greengrass, Slytherin Prefect, younger brother to Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, and soon to be brother-in-law to Draco Malfoy."

Hermione started slightly in surprise- _Draco, getting married?_ Greengrass spoke, "It is a honour to meet you, Doctor Granger. Both Draco and my sisters have mentioned you."

"I'm sure that they have." She couldn't help but let a hint of sarcasm into her voice, polite manners be damned.

But the boy just grinned at her comment, his mirth appearing genuine and not at all condescending. "I believe that Draco said you were a most frustrating year-mate, and entirely too much a Gryffindor for his liking. Astoria, on the hand, said you were the most brilliant witch during her time at Hogwarts. Draco and Daphne, alas, could not argue against that particular point."

She laughed at that, charmed by the boy despite herself. "I hardly can believe that Draco would let that that comment stand, but as it's been a morning for surprises, I shall take your word for it." She heard Poppy's quiet chuckle, and was certain that the Healer had caught the veiled meaning behind her words.

"And which of your sisters is marrying Draco?"

"Astoria, thankfully. He and Daphne would kill each other long before making it to any ceremony."

"Enough cheek, Mr. Greengrass. Do you require something?" Professor Snape cut in.

"Yes sir," he returned smoothly. "Meredith Farley would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

"Is this an urgent matter, or an merely an important one?"

"Important, sir. It concerns Quidditch." Greengrass said the last with a gravitas that was belied by his cheerful expression.

"Small mercies, then." Professor Snape sighed. "I will be working with Doctor Granger for the duration of the day in my laboratory. You may bring Miss Farley to my office at either the lunch hour, or after supper. Is there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Excellent. Be off with you, then."

Before the boy could walk away, Hermione spoke. "Please convey my congratulations to Astoria and Draco, Mr. Greengrass."

He bowed again. "I will do so. I wish you every success in your endeavours today, Doctor Granger." Bestowing a second, equally graceful bow to Poppy, he turned and walked over to a group of chattering students.

They headed to path that led to Hogwarts, all three content with silence. About halfway back to the school, however, Hermione couldn't help but voicing her thoughts.

"Since when have Slytherins been that charming, Professor Snape? I can hardly believe that he learned that trait from you."

Poppy burst into a gail of laughter, and Professor Snape glared at her for long moment before he grudgingly acknowledged the truth in her sally.

"Call me liar if you will, but I have been told that he learned much of his manners from Draco."

She shot him a disbelieving glance. "I can barely credit that. If Draco had been half so engaging when we were students, I might have liked him."

"People change, as you well know..."

Any reply that she might have made to his words was cut short by the appearance of the black, wrought-iron gates of Hogwarts.

She felt a sweat breaking out upon her brow, one that had nothing to do with the exertion of their walk. _Breathe, Granger. _There was a comforting hand on her elbow, and she realized that she had stopped moving forward. Poppy stood at her side, serene and solid.

Professor Snape looked back at the pair of them, face carefully blank. "Stiff upper lip, Granger. If the Castle saw fit to welcome me back, it will scarcely do less for you."

"Hogwarts has never been the problem," she said softly, memories pushing at her like bits of ice.

He stared at her, and then shifted Poppy's packages to one hand. Offering his free arm to her, he spoke almost gently. "Nevertheless... I have found that things get easier only when we try."

She accepted his proffered arm, aware that she was trembling but unable to mask it. The sensation of warm black wool under her fingers steadied her enough to start walking again.

As they approached the Castle, Poppy began to point out the recent changes in a soothing, even voice; Hermione was only required to make infrequent non-committal noises. The majority of her focus was on putting on foot in front of the other, and not hyperventilating.

In that fashion, they made it to one of the back entrances of the building. Poppy opened the large, wooden door and they stepped inside. In a quick second, the bright warmth of the sunlight was blotted out by the thick stone walls; the abrupt transition from light to dark jolted her badly.

Hermione could hear laughter reverberating in her ears; not Poppy's joyful tones, but cold, mocking cackles of a group gone past madness. She could feel the bindings that dug into feet and arms, blood trickling down her face. Every nerve burned, and all she could see from her trussed position was the ceiling of the Great Hall. Lighting cleaved the boiling mass of clouds, echoing the tempest outside. _I am going to die tonight, _she thought...

She was never sure how they got her up to Professor Snape's quarters; one minute she was standing in the dark hall, and the next she was standing in a sunlit living room. Hands were pulling her hair back from her neck, and then a heavy weight was settling over her shoulders and chest. _An apron. Someone is putting an apron on me. _Strong hands spun her slightly, and then she felt the dragon-hide tighten about her body as the strings were tied.

Her sight and mind cleared enough for her intercept a long look between Poppy and Professor Snape; then there was a cutting board and pile of ingredients in front of her. Professor Snape placed a pestle firmly in her hand. She blinked up at him, startled.

"These items need to be ground." He pointed a second pile, a knife next to them. "Those items need to be chopped. Do keep them straight, Granger. And try not to cut off a finger. I don't want to interrupt Poppy's morning any more than we already have."

The cool, caustic remark washed over her like a wave from the lake, and she found her lungs loosening and her heart calming.

She took a deep breath in. Let it out. Took one more...

"Yes, sir." Turning to the makeshift workspace, she began grinding dried shrivelfigs.

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **Happy weekend once again! There was quite the response to last week's chapters, and for that I say thank you! In particular, a huge hug to viola1701e, Snape's Witch, LoveInTheBattleField, Luna de Papel, Cat130, AuroraMcGonagall, punkyredhead, Smithback and a guest who all wrote reviews. My thanks to all the new people who followed and favourited the story as well- merci beaucoup!_

_Incidentally, Punkyredhead was the first to correctly guess the movie reference from the chapter "Excrement and Oscillators". It was the the movie "Airplane". It's a hilarious classic and if you haven't seen it, be sure to throw it on your queue! __Punkyredhead's reward will be announced at a later date... _

_More notes with tomorrow's posting. My appreciation to Muggle Jane for her fine beta work-_

_Ms. Anthrop_


	14. Ch 13- Gentlemen's Clubs and Quidditch

_**Chapter 13 Gentlemen's Clubs and Quidditch **_

It took her the better part of an hour to get through the items that Professor Snape had laid out for for her; meanwhile, he was working unseen down the hall in the laboratory. At some point, Poppy left, and the room went quiet except for the faint sound of music coming from the direction of the hallway.

Washing her hands in at a small sink, she looked around the room for the first time. It was a generously proportioned space, with high ceilings and gothic arched windows running the length of the outside wall. L-shaped, the spot she was standing in contained a full kitchenette, and large table. A low bookcase separated the dining area from a deep leather sofa, and she could just make out a sizeable floor to ceiling bookcase and stone fireplace on the other side of the room.

Unlike the cottage, it appeared that some care had been taken in decorating. While items were generally in earth tones and featured clean lines, Hermione could see pops of colour here and there. The view was the true scene-stealer however; the lake seemed to stretch out in front of her, stopped only by the low mountains at the far shore.

Cautiously, she walked to the open doorway that led into a darker corridor; the sound of music grew stronger and she followed it until she was standing at threshold of a large potions laboratory. Windowless, it was nevertheless brightly illuminated by mage light. Seven high stone tables were arranged around a main workstation; Professor Snape was standing at the workstation, similarly garbed in an oversized apron.

She knocked lightly on the doorframe, and he glanced up.

"I've finished. Would you like me to bring everything in?"

"Yes. Place the ground items on that table there, and bring the chopped items to me." He went back to stirring a small bronze cauldron, intent on the contents within.

She was greatly relieved that he seemed just as disinclined to bring up her earlier hysterical state; whether it sprung from some inherent better tendencies as a gentleman, or a Slytherin distaste of acknowledging overt emotions, she didn't care. Resolutely shoving the thoughts away for a later analysis, she went back out the main room and retrieved the cutting board and ingredients.

Placing the items where requested, she looked to him for additional instructions. He pointed at the sink full of dirty glassware. "Why don't you start in on those; I can brief you on today's agenda while you wash."

* * *

She was talking notes some time later when it hit her that the music they were listening to wasn't anything ever featured on the Wizarding Wireless Network; it was Led Zeppelin. It hadn't seemed at all odd to hear something in the background- she always had music on while she was working- until she found herself humming along with _When the Levee Breaks_. Placing her pen down- and that suddenly struck her as odd too, as it was a pen not a quill, and they were at Hogwarts- she started to look around the room, spotting several other objects of clear Muggle origin. Finally, in a far corner, tucked behind a pile of books, she saw the familiar square shape of a laptop attached to a set of small speakers.

"How did you get that in here?" she asked in astonishment, pointing to the computer. "I thought Muggle electronics couldn't work at Hogwarts."

"It came in a bag, along with the rest of my things," he said sardonically. "There is nothing at Hogwarts per se that would prevent electronics from working. You do run the risk of utterly ruining it if you perform certain types of spells around it. I also don't take it out and about, given that magical outbursts are regular occurrence. But otherwise it's perfectly safe. How else did you think that I maintained our email correspondence?"

"I hadn't given any thought to the details, truth be told. It's completely normal for all of the other professors that I work with to be on email and the like." She made a face. "How come you are comfortable with technology, anyway?" Too late, she realized that her question most likely fell under the 'personal question, do not ask' category.

He didn't answer right away, and only reluctantly gave in. "I am a half-blood, Granger. You know that. I grew up in a mostly non-magical household. There are certain Muggle things that I prefer over wizarding. Music is one of those things."

"But... how?"

"How, what?" He was starting to sound annoyed.

"How do you get it to work here? You can't exactly find a wall socket in every room. And internet?"

"Half-blood I may be, but I am still a wizard... and this is an enchanted castle. I have my ways."

She couldn't stop her next question. "But, how?"

Visibly annoyed now, he waved his wand. The music stopped. He gave another, more complicated swirl and twist. "_Virtus, et vitae,_" he said clearly. The sound of music filled the room again.

"_Virtus, et vitae... _power and life?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Is that a spell of your own design?"

"Yes, Granger. Any further questions, or may we continue to work?"

She picked up the pen, and resumed writing. "I'm sorry... it just struck me all at once as rather odd. For me, the Muggle world and this one," she waved her free hand about, encircling the room, "...are completely separate. I sort of assumed that it was like that for everyone." Thinking for a moment, she went on. "It's... oh, I don't know... like seeing St. Nick at a gentlemen's club."

He snorted, and slanted her a hard look. "Really, Granger," he drawled in his silkiest, most dangerous, Professor Snape voice. "What would you know about the clientele at a gentlemen's club, anyway?"

Hermione found herself suddenly blushing fiercely from the tips of her ears all the way down to her toes. "Uhhh, nothing."

"Then may I once again humbly submit that we return to work?"

"Of course."

* * *

They worked for almost two more hours before a knock interrupted their progress. Professor Snape looked at the clock, and swore softly. He quickly placed three of the cauldrons under a stasis charm, and started to unwrap his apron.

"Give that one," he said, pointing to a cauldron on her left, "seventy counter-clockwise turns, and then place it under stasis. If it starts to turn grey- not silver, but grey, yell. When that's done, why don't you order some lunch from the house-elves?" The knock sounded again. "That will be Mr. Greengrass with Miss Farley. This shouldn't take too long."

In three quick strides, he left the room and she thereafter heard the sound of a door opening. The conversation in other room could be heard quite clearly, and for an uncomfortable moment, she wondered if she should close the door. _He left the doors open, so whatever the problem is, he couldn't have thought it warranted full privacy. And he can't hear me yell through closed doors,_ and dubiously looked down at the bubbling a sigh, she stirred the requested cauldron, mind only half on the counting. She was curious to hear how he dealt with his students.

"What can I do for you, Miss Farley?" Professor Snape's voice fell again in the polite, if formal register.

"It's about the Slytherin Quidditch team, sir. Our beaters- Gaul and Jones- want to resign given that their O.W.L.s are only a month off. They only agreed to join the team because there was no one else who could play... but they're not very good. I'm sure that you've noticed..."

"Yes, Miss Farley. I did observe the lack of the usual blood-thirsty mayhem during the match with Ravenclaw."

"The thing of it is, sir, we still have a chance to win the cup. I mean, we're in third place, but mathematically, we haven't yet been eliminated."

"What are you proposing I do? I can hardly prohibit them from quitting, especially as it is to focus on exams."

"Oh, no, Professor Snape. That wouldn't do. They'd just play worse, and then we'd lose for sure. Umm... I have a more creative solution to the problem." The girl sounded distinctly uncomfortable for the first time.

"Go on."

Her next words came out in a rush. "I want to let two Hufflepuffs take their place."

"You want a pair of Hufflepuffs to play for Slytherin, Miss Farley?"

"Jessica and Josiah Otterburn. They're my neighbours, back in Brighton. They're good, really good as a matter of fact, but Hufflepuff has a set of sixth years that made the team instead of them. We could win with them on the team, I just know it."

Silence fell in the other room, and Hermione abruptly realized that she was almost at seventy turns. Laying a stasis charm, she almost missed Professor Snape's next comment.

"Have you spoken with the two Hufflepuffs in question?"

"Yes, sir. They just want to play."

"And, Mr. Greengrass, what do you think the reaction of the rest of the House would be should I chose to allow the substitution?"

"I do believe that the House would rather win than lose; the how of it is of less importance." The conversation went quiet for a moment, and Hermione wondered how Professor Snape was going to handle the odd request.

"On your heads be it then. I do have one condition, however."

"Sir?" Hermione heard a rustling, then a clink as something metal hit a table.

"Whilst I have total confidence in Mr. Greengrass's abilities to continue serving as prefect, it has come time for us to have an additional person in the role. I highly doubt that the rest of girls are as comfortable coming to him as they would be another female."

"But... sir... I'm a third year."

"A fact that did not prevent you from being elected Quidditch Captain. Are you declining, Miss Farley?"

"No, sir. I'll do it."

"Good. I'll speak to the Headmistress and Professor Sprout this evening; you should have your new members by practice tomorrow."

"Thank you sir. For allowing it... and for making me a prefect."

"Do not let the House down, Miss Farley. I shall expect a complete evisceration of Gryffindor on next Saturday's match. Is there any else that needs to be addressed?"

"No, sir." Twin voices responded in unison.

"Then you are both dismissed. Mr. Greengrass, show Miss Farley how to get through the wards before you leave the hall."

* * *

They ate lunch mostly in silence; Hermione was too busy trying to catalogue the morning's surprising events to do more than eat. Finally, however, she recollected herself and spoke.

"This isn't where the teachers apartments were before, is it?"

Professor Snape turned his gaze to her. "No, it's not. This is one of the new towers that was added to the north end of the Castle."

She blinked, non-plussed again. "How can see this view of lake then? It's from the south side ..." He merely raised a condescending eyebrow at her in lieu of a verbal answer.

"Right. Wizard. Enchanted Castle. Got it."

"Ah, and it suddenly becomes clear why they called the you the smartest witch of your day..."

She resisted the urge to do something childish, like throw a vegetable at the man. He must have caught the drift of her thoughts, because he he tapped his wand lightly in warning.

Smirking, he picked up his wand. "Observe and learn, Granger. _Ex electione._" The view changed, morphing into the bulk of the castle. With a swish, and another murmured _Ex electione_ the lake returned.

"I can see why you prefer the lake."

"I am so glad you agree. Now, are we done playing twenty questions?"

"Perhaps." Hermione put down her fork, wondering if she dared to bring up something that had been bothering her since the day at St. Mungo's. "I've been thinking..."

"Words that strike both fear and anticipation in me..."

Now she did glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"So am I."

With a huff of exasperation, she went on. "I think our approach has some flaws."

"In what way?"

"I feel like we can't see the forest for the trees. If this were a Muggle research project, we wouldn't be jumping into the straight into the solution stage; we would be gathering evidence about how, why and when people are experiencing symptoms."

She paused, watching his reaction; he was listening with all apparent consideration, any trace of earlier sarcasm gone. "I mean, we all assume that the health issues everyone has been facing are related to the after effects of the cruciatus curse, but what if it's more complicated than that? What if it's due to a combination of curses? What if there are environmental or genetic factors? For all we know, we could be completely wrong about all of our suppositions!"

He leaned back in his chair, looking at her with a carefully veiled expression. "So what do you suggest? Stopping our current work? Branching off in a different direction?

"No, I don't think we should stop the applied part of this research. I think that work has enough merit outside of the project to not abandon it... I've been corresponding with Healer Brightbrook since that day at St. Mungo's; he has case files detailing the treatment plans of everyone that's come through their wards, but not full patient histories, and not a whole lot of data from those who have chosen to go elsewhere, or have not elected to seek treatment."

He nodded, and she went on. "What I'd like to do is create a detailed patient survey; get a full biographical and health details, do in-depth interviews about their symptoms, trauma history, and possible triggers, and then analyse the data by way of cross checking in a database. I'd also like to do something similar with a control population that isn't experiencing issues as a way of testing any hypotheses."

"What prompted this line of thinking, Granger?" His voice was thoughtful.

She gave a little laugh. "Frustration, mostly. When we started this, I was able to contribute far more; I had the greater knowledge of Muggle medicines and current treatments. But you have almost as much of science background as I, and you've easily caught up on that front. And then there is the matter of spending the better part of my twenties living as Muggle... If I studied potions exclusively for a year, or even two, I still wouldn't be able to even approach your level of practical or theoretical knowledge. That got me thinking; if this were a Muggle research project, how would it be designed? How would I handle this in my other life?"

"Did you ever finish your N.E.W.T.S?"

"No. I had started to study for them... and then things got in the way." She felt equal parts wistfulness and bitterness. "I wanted to. Ironically enough, I now appreciate the 'subtle science and exact art of potion-making' like I never did as a student. I really enjoy what we are doing; I'm just incredibly frustrated that I can't be a full partner in this work."

"And have you given any thought about returning the wizarding world full time?" There were no emotions either in his voice or expression to give her a clue about his thoughts, or why he was asking the particular questions.

"I thought we weren't going to discuss our personal lives, or thoughts," she said, testing him.

"I have answered a litany of questions from you today, Granger. At least my questions have to do with the project, however tangentially. Humour me."

She thought about her answer for half a minute. Deciding that she had nothing to lose by being honest with him, she spoke. "Yes, I have. But even disregarding the reasons that I left in the first place, it's complicated... I am happy as a Muggle; I have good friends, and a job that I love. The people around me appreciate the same things I do; they don't blink an eye if I spend all weekend at the library. I don't have any close friends in the wizarding world anymore, and even when I did, they didn't understand why I studied so much, or shared my love of knowledge. And then there is the matter of my doctorate- if I came back, all of that would mean nothing. Even the Weasleys don't know how much time and effort goes into getting a Ph.D. I don't want to throw all of that away."

She scrubbed her hands over her face, feeling the incipient tendrils of a headache start. "If I sound like a whinging, self-absorbed youth, I apologize. I can see no easy answers in all this."

He didn't appear to be annoyed by her monologue. "I can't answer most of your questions, Granger. I will say, however, that should you chose to return, there are plenty of research institutions where you could find a similarly academic and congenial bent. There are plenty of likeminded sorts, you just need to know where to look. The wizarding world isn't only made up of Ron Weasleys and Harry Potters."

"Thank goodness for that!" she said with some feeling, and he gave her a wry smile.

"For what it's worth, I agree with you about a need for a detailed patient survey; for one thing, it will make testing out any potions far safer and less a matter of guesswork. Here is what I propose; let's see if we can get Minerva and Poppy to join us, and you can run your idea by them. I assume you have more worked out than a vague outline?"

"Yes, I've already got a patient questionnaire mocked up, and a detailed breakdown of how we can design the overall project as well as what our database needs will be. If I can use your computer to access my email, I can get into real specifics."

"Go. You know where the computer is. I'll see if Minerva and Poppy are available."

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **Happy Sunday, dear readers. A couple of notes that I didn't have a chance to include with yesterday's update: Punkyredhead chose a reward; I will be writing a one-shot of a chapter from another character's POV at the conclusion of completing this story as a parting gift for playing along with my vague reference game. However, several other people also correctly guessed what I was hinting at, and I feel bad that I can't reward them all. Soooo, I came up with something else that I hope will prove to be mutually beneficial. As of right now, the story is at 63 reviews; the person who writes the 100th will be able to choose either to read several chapters early, or receive the aforementioned one-shot deal. A little on the machiavellian side, I know, but reviews make me happy, and this way everyone can participate. So start posting those comments, reviews and howlers!_

_I've had several further inquiries as to how long this story will be, and how soon there will be lemons. Alas, 'I don't know' is still my answer to both questions. I am currently five chapters and about 22,000 words ahead of this chapter, and there is no more than a hint of citrus in the air. Disappointing, I know... but we will get there in all good time. Or is it that when we get there, we will have a good time? ;)_

_Finally, an apology. My language skills stretch to Arabic and French, but unfortunately I have no more than a passing knowledge of Latin. If you are one of those lucky ducks who does know Latin, and can provide and corrections or guidance to my cobbled-together phrases, please let me know._

_As always, my most sincere thanks to Muggle Jane for doing the beta-ing, and all you who are still reading!_


	15. Chapter 14- Tea Among White Elephants

_**Chapter 14- Tea Among White Elephants**_

In short order, Poppy and Minerva had joined them in Professor Snape's suite; to her surprise, the Headmistress had also brought Healer Brightbrook. She hadn't recognized him at first, attired as he was in the earnestly Muggle garb of Doc Martins, jeans, and a brown long-sleeved flannel shirt. The Healer even sported the beginnings of dark blond beard. As he smiled down at her, she noticed he had two small dimples on either cheek... and was rather handsome when she wasn't seeing him filtered through the twin lenses of fear and panic.

His appearance was so incongruous next to the robe clad figures of Poppy, Professor Snape and Minerva that she couldn't help but ask the question foremost in her mind. "Please pardon me for being so impolite, Healer Brightbrook, but are you Muggle-born?"

He grinned broadly, understanding her query. "No, I'm Canadian. We tend to be a much less formal lot, and don't sequester ourselves from the non-magical community as happens so often here. In any case, I'm from British Columbia. I'll wear my formal Healer's Greens at work, but the second I'm off, it's back to these," he said, patting his jeans.

Minerva spoke. "Severus, where would you like us to sit? Or would you prefer us to move to larger quarters?"

"No, moving rooms would be a bother. I need to keep watch on several potions we've going." He swept a dramatic hand in the direction of the dining table, and sarcasm laced his tone when he spoke. "Why else would I have gone to the trouble of expanding my table if not to receive guests?"

"Why, indeed?" Poppy looked at Professor Snape expectantly, eyes twinkling. "This will even provide you with an excellent opportunity to use the brand new tea service I gave you."

He glared at her for a moment, before stalking into the kitchenette and beginning the preparations for tea. Hermione was deeply amused to note that the pot that Professor Snape pulled from the cupboard took the form of a white elephant, with the cups also a miniaturized version of the animal.

The rest of the party sat down at the table, which could accommodate eight easily. Hermione looked back at Brightbrook. "Healer Brightbrook, how is Ginny doing today?"

"Other than supremely irritated at being kept at St. Mungo's, very well. Arthur and Molly were with her when I left. She was trying to convince them to allow her to go home. Molly was having none of it." The Healer laughed, a merry sound, and she found herself responding in kind. "It was quite the clash of titans. And call me Richard. Given the volume of our recent correspondence, it only seems right."

Hermione was about to reply when she felt the brush of woollen robes against her arm. She glanced up as Professor Snape placed a tea cup and saucer in front of her. He loomed above her for instant before moving on to place cups in front of Poppy and Minerva.

"My goodness, Granger, have you started yet another correspondence? Little wonder you have been so busy as of late." His tone was snide.

She couldn't help but needle him back, especially given his earlier innuendo about gentlemen's clubs. "Worried that I might neglect our work because I've been writing to another man, Professor Snape?" she said sweetly.

Reaching the opposite side of the table, his dark gaze effortlessly held hers. "Au contraire," he shot back in that silky voice, "...I am merely concerned for your health. It can be rather exhausting to juggle so many in-depth and lengthy... conversations."

"Severus!" Minerva's exclamation stopped just short of condemnation.

"She is not my student, Headmistress. She hasn't been for quite some time. Besides which, she started it." The last was a touch defensive, but he still hadn't looked away from her.

Before the Headmistress could form her reply, Hermione cut in. "And _she _is perfectly capable of speaking for herself." She shifted her regard to Minerva. "I have fended off far worse than Professor Snape's repartee. Besides which," she said, intonation perfectly matching his, "...he agreed to remain civil and polite in all of our interactions." Deliberately, she softened her expression into one of trusting innocence and looked over to Professor Snape. Widening her brown eyes, she let her voice go breathless and feminine. "You wouldn't go back on your word, would you, Professor? I mean, you wouldn't get that hard on me, right?"

Minerva looked astounded; Poppy gave a sputtering laugh, covering her mouth belatedly. Professor Snape stared at her for a endless moment, and she wondered if she had taken it a shade too far. Then she saw something flash through his expression- satisfaction? pleasure? - before his normal mask of cool indifference hid his thoughts.

"You've made your point, Granger." His voice was droll. "Now we are just being unforgivably rude to our guests." He picked up the teapot; the white ceramic elephant was a whimsical counterpoint to his black robes. He smiled mockingly, and held it out. "Shall I be mother, or would you prefer to pour?"

For the first time in the exchange, she felt a blush race over her cheeks. "By all means, you pour."

Minerva finally regained her composure, and gave her a no-nonsense look as she took her first sip of tea. "I understand from Professor Snape that you have a rather large proposal to present?"

She felt a flutter of nerves. As far as she knew, a comprehensive health survey had never been completed amongst any wizarding populations, and she wasn't sure how the Headmistress would receive her idea. The privacy concerns alone... _I haven't been a Hogwarts' student for over nine years. Why do I suddenly feel like I'm sitting for an exam? _At the end of the table, Professor Snape refilled the pot, and placed it in the middle of the tea service. Rather than sit down on the chair nearest to him, he walked back to her corner and took the open chair next to her. She felt again that light brush of fabric on her arm; his presence had gone from challenging to comforting in the space of five steps.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the first page of her proposal from the stack of papers. "I believe that we are missing some vital information in our endeavours..."

* * *

Indeed, the following two hours proved to be as gruelling as any end of year exam. The Headmistress had led the questioning, but Poppy and and the Healer were equally as relentless on points of concern. Unexpectedly, Professor Snape had spoken up in favour for her cause several times, his clear support had giving the proposal the extra push needed. It had finally been agreed that Minerva would speak to the Ministry, and Brightbrook to St. Mungo's; they would all meet again briefly on Saturday next to start finalizing plans and began implementing the project.

Hermione sat at the empty table, tiredness dulling her surroundings into monochrome when Professor Snape re-entered the room.

"You look done in," he said. "I've things pretty well wrapped in the laboratory; all that is left to do is finish up the notes and wash up. Why don't you go back?"

She was sorely tempted, but she had been drilled far too often by her mother to always help with tidying. "No, I'll stay and assist if you think that I can still be trusted with cleaning the glassware."

"Would more tea help?" His expression was mild, but there was something in the arch of his eyebrow that hinted at earlier comments.

"No, I believe that I've had my fill." She could help but smile self-deprecatingly at him. "Anymore and I'm liable to burst. Speaking of such..."

"Down the hall, last door, go to the right."

* * *

Hermione ended up staying for supper as well. They had begun discussing some of the privacy concerns inherent in the project, but the conversation had quickly turned to a broader debate of the role of government in health matters, and finally, philosophy. Professor Snape followed Muggle politics as well as wizarding, and was well versed in philosophy; it was wonderful to have a debate without worrying about saying something that was either forbidden or not understood. The excellent conversation made her loath to cut the evening to an end despite her exhaustion.

She yawned deeply, the last of many such movements. He yawned in return, looking vaguely annoyed as his jaw popped. "That's it, Granger. I'm sending you away before you become too tired to find your way back home. Come along," He rose and gestured imperiously at her bag. "Gather your things, and I will walk you back to the gates."

"Yes, sir," she said, in a mock-dutiful tone. He rolled his eyes at her reply.

Then they were walking down the cool stone hallways before she could get worried about a repeat of the morning's hysteria. Twice, they ran into groups of pupils; both times the students either shied away or flinched in outright fear. She had to cover up a snort of laugher with a cough as one student, a Ravenclaw, ran smack headfirst into a statue in his haste to get away.

"Not so smart after all," she murmured. "I certainly hope you've learned to enjoy that sort of response from students. It would be otherwise supremely irritating."

"It has some uses. I do not expect much in the way of discipline problems next year, for example."

She made low noise of disgust. "And we were little better, I imagine."

His voice was sardonic when he answered. "Believe it or not, you were easier... at least in that respect. You and your little band of merry-men never recoiled away in fear. If memory serves, you were more likely to creep after me in hopes of catching any misdeeds. I find suspicion far less frustrating than utter terror."

"Was that a complement, Professor?"

"You may take that statement as you wish, Doctor Granger."

They reached a pair of large double doors. Professor Snape opened one side and held the door open for her. Full dark had fallen, and as she stepped out she inhaled deeply, the air still redolent with smells of spring, of rebirth. The lake was nothing more than mass of darkness to their right as they made their way down to the path; the sickle shaped moon gave off only enough light to illuminate the general shapes of objects. _God, it is a beautiful evening._ Something in her, long frozen, finally loosened in quiet dark. She took another deep breath.

Then her robes caught on something and she stumbled slightly; Professor Snape turned, offering his arm, face nothing but an indistinct blur in the night. Accepting, she marvelled at the events of the day. _Despite the rough start, the day turned out far better than you could have thought. You cleared another hurdle... and it was almost fun. Who'd ever guess that you would flirt with Professor Snape in front the Headmistress and others? _The recollection of their banter caused her to blush again, making her glad for the cover of darkness. She wasn't normally that... cheeky, but his earlier unspoken assumption that she'd be easy to silence by mentioning topics of a sexual nature had irked her enough to strike back. _ And now you know that he has a sense of humour under all of that posturing. _

She had a vision of him standing at the table, ridiculous elephant teapot in hand, eyes ablaze. _He lets Poppy bedevil him... I wonder if he'd let me do the same? _Her sensibilities finally caught up with the direction her thoughts were heading in, and firmly quashed the idea. _Belay that, Granger. It is Professor Snape that you are thinking about; he was rather clear about the limits of this relationship. Do you really want to risk losing him as research partner for the sake of some verbal banter? _

"Here we are." His quiet voice rippled through the air, displacing the slight chill. They stood at the gates; with an easy wand movement, he unlocked the wards surrounding the metal so she could exit.

"I'll see you next Saturday?" She meant the words to be a statement, but it came out as question instead.

"Yes, Granger, you shall. However, I will be unable to conduct any research on Saturday. The Slytherins have a Quidditch match in the afternoon."

Hermione stepped away from him, and through the gate. In the distance, she could see the small flickers of candlelight illuminating the sundry windows of the Castle. Emotions bubbled up suddenly; relief, for the most part, but also gratitude towards the man standing in the dark with her. She remembered what had happened the last time she'd tried to express her feelings to him, and didn't care to have a repeat of that scene. And yet, she couldn't just let all of his... gentle handling? help? go unremarked.

"Thank you... for everything today." Her statement was soft.

The pause was lengthy before she heard his voice again. "You're welcome."

"Good night, Professor Snape."

"Good night."

She turned and Apparated away before she could say anything else foolish.

He stood in the dark for several minutes before starting back down the path.


	16. Chapter 15- Cast No Shadow

_**Chapter 15 Cast No Shadow**_

The week passed quickly, and Hermione found herself back at Hogwarts. This time, she Apparated straight to the gates, and was surprised to find Percy Weasley and Minerva in the middle of an intense, if quiet discussion. The conversation stopped as soon as she arrived and she wondered who, or what, precisely had been the topic under debate.

"Good morning, Hermione." Percy said in an overly bright voice. _I really hope it wasn't about me..._

"And a good morning to the both of you," she replied. "Percy... I didn't know that you would be joining us today."

Minerva silently motioned the two forward, and they set off quickly towards the school as a group.

"I am here as the obedient Ministry representative." He wasn't particularly happy about it... _from the sound of that comment, the conversation wasn't about you, after all._ "Before we go in, tell me about about your project. I've heard a bit about it from the family, but not any proper details."

She thought it was a little odd that he didn't want to wait for meeting, but complied with his request. As they approached the Castle, she felt the familiar knot of panic take hold in her stomach; thankfully it did no more than make her go sweaty and make her feel terribly uncomfortable.

Percy kept up the line of questioning until they reached a first floor classroom that been transfigured into a conference room for their use; then he went abruptly mute. There was a small crowd. Poppy sat with an older witch in one corner, Healer Brightbrook was standing with two other Healers getting tea, and Professor Snape stood with his back to the door, looking out the window.

"Let's get started, shall we?" The Headmistress' voice cut through the babble and everyone took seats. "Now, why don't we go around and give introductions..."

Percy interrupted. "I think we need to settle the issue of Ministry involvement before all that, Minerva."

The Headmistress looked exceedingly displeased, but it was Poppy that spoke up. "What issue is that, Percy?

"I don't think that the Ministry should have any part in this project." He glanced over to Hermione. "Listen, I agree with you completely about needing patient histories, but I think that it's extremely foolish, as well as short-sighted, to have that type of information anywhere near the Ministry."

"You almost sound as if you don't trust the Ministry, Mr. Weasley." Professor Snape said, mockingly.

"I don't. He eyed Professor Snape challengingly. "Allow me to phrase it this way: in your position at Hogwarts, you work under Minerva. Do you completely trust her?"

That earned him a hard glare from the Professor... and the Headmistress. "And yet, despite any misgivings you may have, you still chose to return. For similar reasons, I stay in my position. We may not have Death Eaters running the show anymore, but there are plenty of unscrupulous and power hungry people who would try to use the data for their own ends. In the Wizarding World, that sort of knowledge is true power."

"Mr. Weasley," Minerva sounded thoroughly vexed. "...without Ministry cooperation, how are we to get the basic population statistics we need to even start the project? How are we going to disseminate the survey to people without leaning on their resources?"

"It will be more work; I am aware of the additional challenges it will present for the project. But the Ministry does not have adequate protections in place to keep the information safe, Minerva. It's not St. Mungo's." Percy's voice was unexpectedly firm when he went on. "If you really want to push the issue, you will have to go over my head to do so."

Richard Brightbrook joined in the fray. "I agree with him, Minerva. Privacy was my main objection to Doctor Granger's plan. St. Mungo's has always had the utmost enchantments and protections in place to preserve patient confidentiality..." He sent Professor Snape a questioning glance. "... and as far as I know, the protections were not breached during either the first or second wars with Voldemort."

"They were not." Professor Snape said shortly. "Even infiltration proved to be almost impossible. It's not just the people and items within that are kept safe by the protections. Much like Hogwarts, the entire building is a magical construct capable of warding off those who wish it harm."

The room went mum. "It sounds as if I am being outvoted in this matter. Poppy, where do you and Dorcas stand on the matter?" Minerva asked.

"We agree."

"Professor Snape?"

"Agreed."

"Richard, are the three of you in accordance?"

"Yes, we are."

The Headmistress turned her regard to Hermione. "And, you, Hermione?"

She thought hard before answering. "I will have to abstain on this issue, Headmistress. I don't know enough of the particulars at this point to form an educated answer. I will say, however, that the challenges of not having Ministry help are not insurmountable. Indeed, not having the Ministry in on it might lend the entire project some legitimacy in the eyes of the public."

"Very well. If that is where we stand as group, then we shall follow Mr. Weasley's recommendation." She looked over to him, mouth still pinched in lines of disapproval. "How would suggest proceeding from here on out?"

"I shouldn't be here; the less I know officially, the more plausible deniability I can have about the scope of the project. I would suggest," he said, voice taking on a dry quality, "... that someone insult me strongly enough to warrant storming out. On Monday, I will proclaim to anyone who will listen that this is nothing but a bunch of overly complicated Muggle nonsense; we have never needed to take such measures in the past, and there is little reason to do so now. We should be focusing instead on potions work, something that will actually help people, not just useless rehashing of old history. In several months, when the project attracts enough attention from the press or public, I shall call for an inquiry. You, Minerva, as well as Healer Brightbrook," he inclined his is respectfully in the man's direction, "...will come. I will be pompous and pedantic in my questioning, and you both will be utterly furious at the sheer presumption of the Ministry to step into private research matters. The both of you should borrow the more complicated Muggle boffin speak from Hermione; make it so we can't figure out hide nor hair of the project. Naturally, the work will be dismissed, as no one on the committee will understand the true nature or value of information being sought."

Hermione wanted to laugh, stunned as she was at Percy's... cunning? She wasn't alone in her feelings, either. Poppy was smiling, and Brightbrook and the Healers with him all looked highly amused.

"My, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape said, tone mocking once again, "...you could almost be mistaken for a Slytherin with that sort of logic."

Percy eyed Professor Snape, a faint smile lingering in his expression. "And if that is your current idea of an insult, then the rumours of you going soft must be true." With that, he swirled around and left the room.

Hermione did laugh at that, along with Poppy. The Headmistress only sighed, and stood to get her own cup of tea. "I believe I was speaking of introductions before we were interrupted..."

* * *

The meeting went more smoothly after that. It was decided that they would pilot the project first by taking histories from currently admitted St. Mungo's patients, and then gradually expand out to previous patients, those from other institutions, and finally the general public. Brightbrook also suggest using second-year apprentice healers from St. Mungo's as the survey takers; it was an idea everyone liked.

"It does present us with two problems however," Brightbrook noted. "The apprentice healers will need to be educated in the art of survey taking, as well the foundations of this inquiry. While there are similarities to the way we train them in interviewing patients, there are some rather significant differences. There is also matter of them working out the Dark Magic curses used in individual cases..." He trailed off.

"Hermione, what sort of course work did you take for this type of project?" Poppy asked.

"I took a semester long seminar on research methods; it ended with with a practicum of a mock study."

"Is that something you could scale down and teach?" Minerva inquired.

The request flummoxed Hermione. She taught several courses a year at Aberystwyth, but they were nothing more than general lecture sections. This... well it would be a lot more complicated. On the other hand, being able to bring some of knowledge that she valued, methods and scientific notions of thinking to wizarding researchers...

"I believe so. I would need a couple of weeks to come up with a syllabus. I could only teach it at night... and probably only once or twice a week, given my other commitments. But, yes, it is something I could do."

Minerva nodded. "Good. Richard, just how much training do the Healers provide around the Dark Arts?"

"Unless the person is going into curse breaking, not much beyond N.E.W.T.S level Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's limited to basic symptoms and treatment for the most common curses."

Minerva looked thoughtfully at Professor Snape. "At the risk of being incredibly crass, you would be be the obvious choice for teaching that section. You have the most... personal knowledge of the curses used by Voldemort and the Death Eaters." Her statement hung in the air, and Hermione couldn't help but wince at the cold expression that had slid over Professor Snape's face.

"That would be one way of phrasing it."

"There are several curse-breakers that could do as well, Minerva." Brightbrook said quietly, ending the long look between Minerva and Professor Snape.

"I will consider it." Professor Snape said flatly. Poppy appeared to want to say something to him, but in the end, she subsided back in her chair unhappily.

A brisk knock at the door brought the proceedings to a halt. After a pause, Aelius Greengrass stuck his head in.

"Pardon the interruption, but the match is starting in twenty minutes."

Professor Snape rose swiftly. "My presence is required elsewhere. Is there anything else of importance that cannot be debated via owl or email?"

Minerva stood as well. "No, I think that we have covered enough ground for one day. My apologies, but I need to be at the match as well." Addressing the Healers, as well Poppy's guest, she said, "Please do feel free to stay and watch. It should be rather interesting; not only is it my old house against Professor Snape's, but his team will also be featuring two new players that were recruited from another house. It's the first time in Hogwarts history that there has had a mixed Quidditch team."

Hermione was gathering up her papers when a young voice sounded at her elbow. Looking over, she saw it was Aelius Greengrass.

"Will you be staying for the match, Doctor Granger?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled back. "I hadn't planned on it, no. I am not a huge fan of Quidditch. But it does sound interesting..."

"It will be! Besides, you can sit with us, and tell me all the dirt about Daphne and Draco." The relish in the boy's tone made her smile again.

Professor Snape and Poppy stopped at the table. "Mr. Greengrass, are you quite done pestering Doctor Granger, or must we be late to the stadium?"

"Sorry, sir. I was only trying to convince her to come to the match..."

She glanced up at Professor Snape, trying unsuccessfully to divine his thoughts. He said nothing, and she realized that those old lines of tension were back.

It was Poppy who finally spoke up. "Stay, Hermione. I too am no fan, but it will be a lovely day to sit in the stands."

"Alright then, that does sound nice." She wondered what Poppy's motivation was in getting her to stay.

Then Richard Brightbrook walked over, and clapped Aelius on the shoulder in greeting. "I believe I'll stay as well, and see this pitch you've been bragging so long about."

"Brilliant!" The boy broke into a full grin. "Wait until you see our new beaters..."

"May I once again suggest that we make our way to the stadium?" Professor Snape interjected sharply. He didn't look pleased, she could now see. Was it Minerva's earlier suggestion about teaching, her continued presence, the Healer, or a combination therein? They made their way to the door, and then the outside exit.

The path to the Quidditch pitch was crowded with students, and Hermione was momentarily flooded with vivid memories from her student years. _How little this has changed..._ About halfway down, they were met by a larger group of Slytherin students; Hermione was immediately struck with how much more reserved they were as compared to the other Houses. They weren't carrying banners, or singing chants. She watched as Aelius warmly greeted each student in turn, his charm seemingly knocking off a bit of the frost they carried; the group, including Professor Snape, seem to relax into some of the cheerful joie de vivre that the boy exuded.

She glanced over to Richard Brightbrook, who was observing the students with keen interest. "How do you know Mr. Greengrass?

"Through Draco Malfoy; I am the Healer in charge of his case as well."

"Draco is in St. Mungo's?" That was a shock; she had assumed, as he was getting married, that his life had proceeded fairly uneventfully after all of the conflict had ended.

"I'm sorry, you didn't know?" His smile faded a bit.

"How is he faring?"

He looked at her apologetically. "I afraid I can't divulge patient information without prior authorization."

"Oh, of course." It was an awkward and obvious faux pas as they had just spent all morning debating the various aspects of patient privacy.

"I can say, however, that should you chose to visit St. Mungo's, he would be happy to see you."

That made her laugh. "I doubt that very much, Healer Brightbrook. Draco and I were never friends, despite being year mates."

"It's Richard, please. And you might be surprised. I've told him about your project, and he's been rather interested. You may not have been able to be friendly as classmates, but times.. and people change."

"There is some truth in that..." she said, and felt the weight of memories again. Taking a breath, she banished the thoughts. "And I do prefer Hermione as well."

"Very well, Hermione. Tell me about the different Houses; I need to know who to root for this afternoon," he said in a lighter tone.

"Well, you are wearing green, so the natural choice would be Slytherin... Let's see, Slytherin's have always been known for their cunning and intelligence- they have produced more prime ministers than any other house, for example." She pointed to green sweater in front of them. "Their mascot is the snake. They are playing the Gryffindors today- that would be the red and gold lions- and they are known for their bravery. The Headmistress is a Gryffindor," She quirked an eyebrow. "...as was Albus Dumbledore. Over there," she pointed to a student in the bright yellows of Hufflepuff. "...those are Hufflepuff colours, represented by the badger. Hufflepuffs are stalwart and loyal; I believe the two new members of the Slytherin team came over from Hufflepuff. Finally," she said, searching the crowd for any hint of blue, "...there are the Ravenclaws, where 'wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure'. They are brains of Hogwarts..."

Hermione was badly startled by a high-pitched yell. As she swung around to locate the cry, a Gryffindor student bearing a large flag whipped by, nearly pushing her to the ground. She was saved from falling face first by the timely intervention of two pairs of hands; that of Brightbrook and Professor Snape.

"Thank you," she said a little shakily, fighting off the sickening lurch of adrenaline the yell had aroused in her.

"Are you alright?" The question was asked simultaneously by the two men. Ahead of them, a loud and long cheer went up as the flag-bearing Gryffindor ran through a crowd of his House-mates.

"Yes," her voice was rather more curt than she intended; she was embarrassed to have been seriously rattled in front of so many people.

"The Gryffindors are quite a... spirited bunch, are they not?" Brightbrook said in the silence. It didn't come out as a complement.

"That might be one adjective to use." Professor Snape's tone was cutting. "I have several others that I prefer. Alas, they are not appropriate for juvenile ears to overhear."

Trying to regain the earlier feeling of levity, Brightbrook asked another question. "What house were you in, Hermione? Let me guess... Ravenclaw?"

Yet another raucous cheer went up; they were at the base of the stadium. She felt her face flush. "No. I was a Gryffindor."

"Oh." Now it was Brightbrook's turn to sound awkward.

Poppy, bless her, stepped into the breach. "Shall we go up and take seats? It sounds like the match is about to start..."

Somehow Hermione ended up sitting between Professor Snape and Healer Brightbrook. It should have been amusing- she was aware of the their subtle jockeying for her attention, even if they yet weren't- but instead, it only annoyed her. She really wasn't a fan of Quidditch, and had long ago tired of sitting between two bickering boys... or in this case, men.

The warmth of the sunshine did feel nice, however, and they seemed content to ignore each other for the time being. Looking around the stands, she was amazed to see how empty the seats around them were. She turned to Professor Snape.

"I am surprised that more of your House isn't here, sir. I would have thought that a match against Gryffindor would have drawn a larger crowd."

His eyes swept over the section appraisingly, and then down at her. "Every Slytherin is here, Granger."

She looked again in some confusion. Even counting the small groups of Hufflepuffs scattered amongst the Slytherins, there were so very few students. "But there can't be more than forty Slytherins here!"

"Including myself, there are only thirty-seven." She knew that enrolment numbers were down overall at Hogwarts, but still. It appeared that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff numbers were about where they should have been...

"Why is the House so small?"

He glared down, voice low enough to only be heard by her. "Think, Granger. What happened seven years ago?"

For a second, she saw a flash of the ceiling in the Great Hall... but, no, he couldn't have meant that. Given his gentle handling of her last weekend, it was unlikely that he'd deliberately bring the incident up, and what did that have to do with the Slytherin House numbers? She thought, a little frantically, and then it came to her. Seven years ago, the remaining Death Eaters had been felled by a spectacularly powerful curse... one that that had left only three people carrying the Dark Mark alive. The Malfoys... and Professor Snape.

She froze and he felt her sudden stillness, pressed together as they were._ It had to have been him_. He had killed over sixty people with one spell... and many of those people would of been the parents, or the extended family to this current batch of Slytherins. _No wonder there are so few... and why earth did he return, knowing that he would have to face their children?_

Hermione wasn't sure if she'd call that courage, or something else- like very large stones- but it still, the thought of it filled her with a sense of awe. She, whose first choice had been to run away, whereas he... he had chosen to come back. She could feel his cold stare on her, practically counting on her to flee from him screaming bloody murder, and scrambled to come up with something, anything to say.

She was was interrupted by a Slytherin goal. When it quieted down enough for him to hear her, she leaned back to him. "Well, that certainly puts the seven I offed in one go into perspective, doesn't it?"

He stared down at her and for one moment, his face was completely unguarded. She saw shock, and amazement... and something else she couldn't quite identify.

"Was that a joke?" he hissed, incredulous.

_Please don't let him be mad, don't let think that I'm mocking his actions! Please, please, just let him understand why I said it... god, I am so crap at this! _"A very poor one, and one in even poorer taste given the circumstances... but yes," she whispered back.

Out of the corner of her vision she could see Poppy's face, clearly concerned but not understanding the situation; she held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

And then he laughed. It was a short, bitter sound. One that hurt, because she knew then that if he laughed, really would have laughed, it would have been such a beautiful sound. But this one was so full of bitterness...

"Jesus, Hermione..." he muttered, "...only you and your bloody Gryffindor courage would dare to joke about that." He scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing tendrils of his dark hair out of the way. Still unmasked, he looked lonely, and tired... and a little lost.

She was just about to reach over and touch him when Brightbrook leaned over and made a comment in a loud voice that all but proclaimed his obliviousness. "Your new Beaters aren't half bad, Snape. But your Chaser is wonderful!"

And just like that, his emotions were gone. "Meredith Farley, Team Captain and Prefect." He pitched his words so that the Slytherins around them could hear. "She's a third-year. If she keeps it up, she's talented enough to make a professional team when she graduates. Many people have the physical skills to play well, but it's a rare person that has the mental strategy to be truly good at Quidditch. In one so young..." his next words were dry. "By seventh year, she'll be an utter terror, on and off the field."

"I bet." Brightbrook said approvingly. "Dare I ask who you are rooting for, Hermione? It looks like your Gryffindors are in for quite a fight."

Her heart was still pounding hard in her chest, but her voice was as sunny and cheerful as she could make it when she spoke. "It's just as you said earlier, Richard. Times, and people change. Tonight, I'm rooting for the Slytherins."

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **Happy weekend once again! As always, I want to start by expressing my gratitude- first to my beta, Muggle Jane, and then to all who are reading and commenting. Thanks to Cat130, punkyredhead, OnlyAMonster, catsgotmytongue, viola1701e, Luna de Papel, orlando switch, LoveInTheBattleField, Smithback, fan, KEZZ 1 and Snape's Witch for leaving me such wonderful comments and questions. Many of the points brought up have inspired conversations and situations in upcoming chapters... that you will unfortunately have to wait a little while longer to read ;) So keep it coming dear readers- and Snape's Witch, thanks for the corrections! _

_Fan, merci beaucoup! Par tous les moyens, d'écrire des commentaires en français. Je peux lire et parler assez bien, même si ma grammaire a toujours fait mes professeurs soupir de douleur. Alas :P_


	17. Chapter 16- Another Brick in the Wall

_**Chapter 16 Another Brick in the Wall**_

The day started well. It appeared that summer weather was finally on the near horizon; the spring term had ended two weeks prior, and the Aberystwyth campus was mostly deserted except for the researchers. Hermione rather enjoyed the month of June; not only did she like the feeling of having the college to herself, but the days were long enough that she could still get out and enjoy the daylight after finishing her work.

She was just starting a pot of coffee when her department head, Angus Jones, came in with a rather strained look on his normally genial face.

"Good morning," she called out. He nodded to her, and then went into his office and shut the door. Over the next hour, the two other professors came in and joined Angus in his office. _This can't be good. There must have been some sort of major dust-up... so the question is, was it research or bureaucracy related?_

* * *

She was busy cataloging new books when Angus finally stuck his head out the door some two hours later.

"Hermione, can you do me a favour and ring Brad and Aditi for an emergency department meeting?" he asked. Brad and Aditi were her fellow post-doctoral researchers; unlike her, both worked primarily in the lab, whereas the department library was her sole purview.

"Yes, sir," she said, looking at him questionably.

"I had a budget meeting with the Chancellor this morning." He looked at her apologetically. "It didn't go well. No one will lose a position... but it's not going to be pretty."

"Oh." She had just finished her first year on her fellowship; she'd assumed there would be at least one more before she would have to make any major decisions about what direction she was going to take her life in... "I'll give them a call then. I think that they are both downstairs in the lab. It shouldn't take them too long to come up."

"Thank you." He shut the door again.

Brad made it up first; a stocky red-headed American, he reminded her much of Ron, at least in looks. His temperament, on the other hand, couldn't be more different. Quiet and as studious as she was, he made for an excellent research partner. He also had sardonic sense of humour that meshed well with hers, and the two of them had gone hiking together quite a few times around the Nant-yr-Arian Forest and surrounding areas.

"Hermione, what's up? Any idea why they want to talk to us?"

She wasn't sure if Angus had wanted her say anything, but wasn't going to lie either. "It's budget-related. They've all been in Angus' office all morning."

"Great. Is there no end to this economic collapse?" he asked rhetorically.

Aditi Kapoor walked in. Hearing Brad's lament, she looked at Hermione sharply. "Don't tell me we're all about to get the sack!"

"No, Angus said we'd be safe there, but it doesn't sound good."

Aditi flopped down into the chair next to Brad. "I blame you Brad. Or rather, you bloody Yanks. It's not enough that you've started two wars, but now your country is on the verge of tanking the entire world economy because you all had to have shiny new McMansions in the suburbs." She softened her harsh statement with a smile and reassuring pat on the shoulder.

From Hounslow, the woman was a study in contrasts; fiercely proud of her Indian heritage, she wore salwar kameez to work most days, and loved to blast bhangra music while working. But she had openly defied her family by marrying a Welsh mathematician, and then had moved away from London in pursuit of her own Ph.D.

"I blame Canada." Brad murmured.

"What's Canada have to do with it?" Aditi asked in some confusion.

"Ever watched South Park?"

The rest of his comment was cut off the re-emergence of Angus. "Are we all here? Good then, into the conference room."

They filed in and took seats, and he spoke. "Listen, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just get to the point. Our budget was tight enough with all of the recent retrenchment policies, but we've found out yesterday that the NHS declined to renew our grant."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he went on warily. "The Chancellor is firm that the any budget shortfall will have to be adsorbed by the department. What that means, for the three of you at least, is that starting in September we will only be able to offer you part-time fellowships. I'm sorry."

He turned to Brad. "I know your visa is a major concern, but I think we should be able to manoeuvre things enough so you won't have any issues." He gazed at the group again. "I know the timing of this is terrible- it's too late in the year to find any good positions elsewhere, but I, as well as Jack and Annie, will do whatever we can to assist you. If you want to leave your contract early or can find another position mid-year, we will fully support you in doing so."

"Is there any chance that there might be a last minute windfall?" Aditi asked.

"Doubtful. I will speak with some of the other department heads to see if there are any open positions that you might be able to slide into, but I think things are going to be bad for everyone in the college."

Angus sat back in his chair. "I know this comes as shock, and I really am sorry. I want you three to take the rest of the day off." He pulled several bills out his pocket. "Go have lunch, and a drink on us."

* * *

The mood in the pub was gloomy, and not helped by the fact that they were the only patrons. All three had ordered food, but only Hermione and Brad had gotten drinks.

"So, what's the verdict, then? Will the two of you stay?"Aditi played with one of her chips before wiping her hand on a napkin.

Brad took a sip of his Guinness. "I don't know, Aditi. I mean, I had kind of resigned myself to being poor for the two years of the fellowship, but I don't know if I can make it on half that budget." He took another deep drink, grimacing. "But it's not like I am going to be able to find a job in the States right now. I think if they can keep my visa, I'll stay. I could probably get some tutoring work once the fall term starts to make up the difference."

Aditi nodded, face full of sympathy. "Thank god Rhys' job pays well enough to support the two of us..." Her voice wavered. " But it's not going to be the two of us for very much longer. I wasn't going to say anything yet, but I'm pregnant."

"Aditi, that's wonderful!" Hermione said, smiling at her friend. "When are you due?"

"Mid-January. For that reason, I guess being shifted to part-time isn't all bad, is it? But Hermione, what about you?"

She looked down at her cider, wishing that she didn't have to lie... or at least, be reduced to half-truths. "I have no idea what I'm going to do. You both know I've been doing a lot of side research related to my health issues... the group that sponsors the scientists I work with might be able to offer me a position. But I don't know if I want to go back."

"Go back where?" Brad asked.

"It would be in London... or maybe Scotland."

Brad and Aditi both were eyeing her with evident questions; several months before, she had given them a vague explanation about freelancing for a private think tank as cover for her Hogwarts research. It wasn't precisely a lie- she just hadn't mentioned that she was being funded by the Ministry of Magic, rather than the Muggle Ministry of Health. However, she knew it was a flimsy story, and from the look on Aditi's face, she was about to face a raft of questions.

"Hermione..." The woman paused, looking unsure of herself. "Are you with MI-5 or something?"

"Am I what?" Hermione was so stunned for a moment, she could hardly get the words out.

Aditi glanced over at Brad, and then back to Hermione before continuing. "It's the only thing I can think of that makes any amount of sense." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Aditi just put her hand up to stop her. "I've known you for what, five years now? You don't have any past to speak of. No family. No connections but recent ones. You are much better now, but sweetie, when I met you, you were a hot mess. You've got PTSD books all over your house, and now you've been working on some sort of super secret project that you can't give any details about. Hence, MI-5..."

Her mind was racing; it wasn't a bad guess, given how little she'd actually told Aditi. And it wasn't that far off from the facts, either... _God, I wish I could just tell them the truth!_ She answered slowly. "It's something like that, Aditi." She stared across the table, and decided to try to give them some sort of longer account.

"Eight, almost nine years ago I was involved in... in something dangerous. There was a lot of fighting..." she looked down, only then realizing that she was shredding her napkin to bits. "My parents died as a result of what I was involved in. So did a lot of other people. When it was over..." she stopped, feeling a tear run down her face.

"When it was over, I had to leave the... organization, and people that I was with. Everything was just too much for me to deal with. I ran away." She laughed bitterly. "I ran away, with a little help from a friend. It took time, but I finally put myself back together. Everything was alright... and then I got sick. I had to go back... no, that's not quite true. I wanted to go back to see people, and my health problems gave me the excuse I needed to do so."

Both Aditi and Brad watched her with sympathy. Their quiet acceptance, their belief, warmed her for for a moment before the push of her emotions overwhelmed her again.

"The timing of this fellowship reduction couldn't be worse. If they knew there was a problem... they'd find a place for me. I know they would. And I could be happy there. I love the work, and truly, the people aren't all bad. They would take care of me, and they know my past... I just thought I had more time to decide to what life I wanted." She was crying in earnest now, and Aditi stretched a hand out to her.

"I feel like I'm being forced into something... and I don't know if I can handle it all. I can do a day there, a weekend. But go back to that life full time?" She wiped her face. "I'm terrified."

Hermione felt that old touch of ice, felt the broken bits and shards of memories within her press forward, seeking a way out. The urge to run, to flee filled her."I'm sorry. I know this makes no sense, and I sound like I've gone nutters..."

She stood, and Aditi and Brad immediately rose with her. Aditi came around the table, and gave her a hug. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. Come home with me. I'll show you how to make aloo gobi, and tikka masala, you don't know those dishes yet, right? Then you'll be able to make a full Indian dinner all by yourself..."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Aditi, thank you. I just... I just need to go home an have a good cry. That'll help. I've got something with the other research group tonight, anyway... Maybe tomorrow?"

"If you're sure. Ring me if you change your mind?" Aditi gave her another hug.

"Brad, I'm sorry about all the tears. I know being around crying women is no fun..."

He stepped forward and gave her an easy kiss on the forehead. "No worries. That's what friends are for, right? Regardless of me being a man... How many times do I have to tell you not to go all gender normative on me, Granger? Why am I the always feminist of this trio?" He gave her playful swat on the shoulder, and then his expression grew more serious. "I think I understand a bit of what you are saying, Hermione. My two older brothers are in the Marines... and they talk about their jobs just like you do." He gave her a gentle push towards the door. "Thanks to Angus, we don't have worry about the bill. Go home and have your cry. If you need us, just call."

She wiped her face a final time. "Thank you. I'm... I'm sorry I can't explain more. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Assuming we don't get the sack in the mean time, sure." Brad grinned. "Now go. You're really pretty, Hermione, but not when you've been crying."

* * *

She went home and cried.

Once, about six months after starting counselling, she'd gone to a group therapy session. The facilitator had talked about how one needed to identify the emotions that had ruled past behaviours in order to have successful future behaviours; it might take several weeks, the woman had noted, to determine the dominant feeling amongst the bunch. For Hermione, it had required no thought to figure out what emotion drove her behaviour. It was fear. It had always been fear.

As a child, she's been afraid of disappointing her parents; not that they had ever been anything less than perfectly supportive of her, but that had almost made it worse. They were proud of her, loved her so very much... what if she couldn't live up to all that hope? Later, at Hogwarts, she was fearful of not fully capitalizing on the amazing gift she'd been given. How many children dreamed of having magical powers, only to abandon those dreams when the magic never appeared? When Voldemort had begun his insidious infiltration into their lives, she been terrified that she would not be able to find the answers that would save their lives...

When Harry appeared cradling the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory in the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione had learned the bitter truth that it didn't matter how much one studied- you could be prepared and still lose everything. That realization had only driven her harder... and hadn't provided any comfort when she'd lost friends, or her parents.

The deaths of her parents, coming after she had done everything in her power to protect them, had been the final straw. She had started running, from the pain and the fear and everything that was tangled up inside of her. Muggle life had been so much safer. Bad, horrible things happened there too, but not like in the wizarding world.

And now? Now she felt like she was being pushed back into that life, and she was afraid that she'd fail once again. Hermione could feel herself sink into that old depression... and screamed, as ten, needle sharp claws sank into deep into her thigh.

She looked up from her pillow into the furious, hissing, squished face of Crookshanks. Slowly, he flexed his claws again. _Get up! _his expression clearly said, _or I'll do it again! _ The pain, as well as the militant look on her familiar's face was enough impetus to sit up. She took a deep breath, and pushed the panic back enough to gather her thoughts.

_I have options. Even if I lost my job today, I have enough money saved up to take care of things until I can find something else. And if I do back to the Wizarding World, it will be because I chose to. It will be okay..._ Crookshanks gave an irritated yowl and she looked up again. She saw the clock; it was almost five PM.

"You want your dinner, don't you, Crooks?" The cat marched to the end of her bed with a peeved swish of his orange tail. Hopping off the bed, he walked to door, still grumbling non-stop. She swung her legs off the bed, and got up to follow.

_It will be okay. You don't have to make any decisions right now. You have just three tasks tonight... _another angry yowl punctuated the quiet of her flat. _First, feed Crooks. Then, teach your class at St. Mungo's... and pull yourself together so that the Headmistress and Professor Snape can't tell that anything is amiss. Easy peasy. _

Crookshanks got a whole can of tuna rather than his normal dry kibble, and she showered until the hot water ran out. Hermione dressed painstakingly, taking extra care with her hair and make-up. All the while, she pushed her fears away into the dark corners of her mind, built a wall up around her thoughts so that nothing could peek through but calm. Her fears were still there, like a snarling dog at the end of a chain, but for now she was safe.

* * *

Hermione Granger was an excellent teacher; that should have been no surprise, given how she'd tutored at least half of the Gryffindors during her time. Still, Snape was impressed at just how good she was at lecturing. Granger did far more than present the material in an interesting manner- she broke it down into manageable sound bites, and designed activities that allowed the students to demonstrate their mastery of the concepts.

Three weeks they had been teaching this class together, to twenty-odd apprentice healers; three weeks of her lecturing about Muggle research methods, and him Dark Magic Curses. And tonight, for the first time, she was off.

It didn't show in her presentation ('Going Native: Understanding Subjectivities and Perspective in Ethnographic Work'). She was as personable and charming as always. She even made jokes- funny ones. But still, something was off. There was a distance, a coldness underneath her skin that he'd never seen before. During their break, he'd thrown several conversational gambits out with the hopes of getting her to talk. It hadn't worked. He glanced over to Minerva, who was sitting in the front row of the class. Ostensibly, she was there as student, but Snape thought it was more likely she was there to see what kind of teacher Granger was. He was certain that the Headmistress had plans for the woman, whether or not Granger realized it. Minerva's current expression was carefully neutral; she clearly had seen that something was wrong too.

A flash of golden hair caught his eye. Brightbrook slipped into the classroom, fresh from rounds if his robes were any indication. There was another person with plans for Granger; personal ones if he had read the heated look in the man's eyes correctly. _Good luck with that_, he thought. _At least he's a better fit than Ronald Weasley._

The thought stung a bit. He liked Granger. He wasn't sure if he fancied her in that fashion... but he was fascinated by her mind, by the woman she'd become. There had been that bit of verbal... nonsense between the two of them at the table. It had been enjoyable. She hadn't backed down, which had pleased him almost more than her wordplay had. And the next week, at the Quidditch match, she'd made that joke. She'd not been horrified by the knowledge that he'd taken out the last of the Death Eaters; there had been that flash of something, of... understanding between them.

All of which made her extremely dangerous. The realization of the direction his thoughts had been flowing in had stopped him cold. He had duly reviewed his behaviour, and seen clearly that he'd not even been playing by the rules that he had carefully laid out when they'd agreed to work together. Accordingly, he had made bloody well sure that he had kept every bit of the personal out of their thrice weekly interactions. Laboratory or classroom, it did not matter; he had exponentially increased the space between them.

His recent coolness might be an explanation for hers; maybe she was also shutting the door on any sort of friendship between the two of them. Maybe.

* * *

They walked back together to the Healer's Apparition point in St. Mungo's in silence. The remainder of the class had been uneventful, and gave him no further clues as to the mystery of Granger's apparent chill. Brightbrook had asked her out, he had noted. She had accepted, with grace and apparent interest.

He wasn't jealous.

She got to the flat macadam pad first. She started to shift towards him- to say good night, perhaps?- when he grabbed her arm and swung her all the way around to face him.

He looked down at her. Granger had finally grown into her curly mass of hair, into the dark and arched eyebrows that had so overwhelmed her features as a child. Her face was a delicate collection of curves... smooth and serene, and apparently without any curiosity as to why he had so rudely just touched her.

"Granger. What is the matter?"

Whiskey-coloured brown eyes met his without hesitation; there was nothing reflecting in those depths but calm.

She smiled. "I'm fine, Professor Snape. The class went well. What could be wrong?"

Gently, she disengaged her arm from his hold.

"Good night. Until Saturday?" she queried.

"Saturday." He stepped back.

Granger spun, and with a loud crack, Disapparated into the dark night.

_Minerva was right, _he thought as he started his own turn. _She did learn how to lie._

* * *

Three hours later, he was playing chess with Minerva in the Headmistress' office. They played chess several times a week, usually in the wee hours of the night. Minerva was as much of an insomniac as he was, and playing chess with her was more appealing than laying in his bed, not sleeping. _Nothing like getting beat in my old office... _She glanced up at him over the chessboard, almost as if she had heard that sarcastic thought.

She finally moved her rook. "Do you know what was wrong with Hermione tonight?"

He snorted. "Funny, I was going to ask to you that question."

"She didn't mention anything to you?"

"No." He shifted a knight, wondering if Minerva would take the bait.

"I floo'd Arthur earlier. He and Molly don't know anything either." She leaned back from the board for moment, and opened a drawer from the desk behind her. She pulled out a small velvet bag, and dropped the small crystal necklace on the board. He remembered the item...

It was yellow this time. Not a happy, sunny sort of yellow, but a yellow that called forth notions of panic and fear. Vomit yellow. Here and there it was shot through with bits of red and black.

He touched the delicate crystal, and snatched his hand back almost immediately upon feeling the heaving morass of emotions.

"So. Something is definitely wrong then."

"It would appear so." She put the necklace back into the bag, and moved her bishop. _Damn. I thought had her with that one._

They played for several more minutes before she spoke again. "I want to make some rather large changes to the curriculum next year."

"Such as?"

"I want to modify Muggle Studies; make it mandatory for all third years, and have the class be basic Muggle science and methods rather than history. I would also like to offer some higher level science classes- chemistry, biology- eventually."

"Those are some rather large changes. What brought the idea forth?"

Now she snorted at him. "Hermione. Listening to her over the past two months talk about the gap between Muggle science and Magical theory has only highlighted certain longstanding notions of mine. Times are changing, and if the Wizarding World wants to keep up, it will need working knowledge of science and technology to do so."

"Now, those are fighting words."

"You disagree?"

"Did I say that?" He slanted her a hard look. "No. I agree, for all the good it will do you. You'll have a hell of battle on your hands if you try to make those changes, however."

"As it happens, I have already spoken with several key members of the Board of Governors. They are willing to back me."

"Lucius?"

"Yes."

"Wonders never cease. Check."

She sent him a pointed stare, and moved her queen. "Check. And it's not surprising the least. He would do anything if it might bring help to Draco."

"What are you suggesting, then?" He moved his king, annoyed that he had fallen for her scheme.

"Have Scheherazade move over from Muggle Studies to History of Magic. Given that Professor Binns has missed the most recent fifty years of History on account of being dead, it makes sense to bring in someone who can teach to more relevant areas other than the Goblin Wars of four hundred years ago."

"I doubt Binns would notice if classes stopped showing up."

"Precisely." She moved her her queen again. "Checkmate."

"Damn, woman. Will you ever let me win?"

She smiled faintly at that. "I played Albus for almost thirty years. Perhaps once you've played me for that long, you too can enjoy the taste of victory. Until then..." She knocked over his king with pleasure.

"I shall have to console myself with the cold, hard comfort of the Quidditch Cup then. It's such a shame that the Gryffindors lost it this year, wasn't it? And by such a small margin... Maybe next year?" Snape drawled, enjoying the look it put on the Headmistress' face.

She made a rude Scottish noise. "See if I don't prohibit you next year from stealing players from other houses, Severus. You would have lost had it not been for the last minute addition of those Beaters."

"And miss the chance at promoting inter-house fraternity? I think not." The mocking tone left his voice as he gazed at her. "So you will move Scheherazade over to History. Who will take her place and teach all of those fancy new classes?" He knew the answer, but wanted to hear her explanation.

"Hermione, of course."

"What about the little matter of her lack of N.E.W.T.S? Her Muggle doctorate does not qualify her to teach here." He eyed the bag with the necklace appraisingly.

"That is where you might assist in matters."

"Let me guess. Take her on as an apprentice."

"Yes. She could teach as an apprentice; given her intelligence and study habits, it would probably only take a year or so to pass all of her exams, and then another two years for her mastery."

"Why me?"

She gave him a hard stare. "It makes the most sense; the two of you are already working together on mastery-level work, and it appears that she now has a strong potions bent. If you don't want her as an apprentice, I'll gladly take her on. Flitwick and Sinistra have also expressed interest as well."

"What is the real reason that you want her back here, Minerva?" At her look of annoyance, he went on. "Beyond the obvious. I understand wanting to make the course changes, but why Granger? It doesn't have to be her. If you wanted someone with a science background, one could be found." He gave a little shudder of distaste. "We might have to go to the Americas to find someone, but it would be possible."

Minerva looked away for a long moment. She was staring at Albus' empty portrait, he realized. When she finally spoke, it was with sorrow and exhaustion colouring her words. "We broke her, Severus. She was a child when we asked to her fight; worse than that, she was a Muggle, with no real understanding of our world and the hazards therein."

She touched the velvet bag softy. Regretfully. "She lost everything."

"So did many other people."

"I know, Severus. Believe me when I say, I know." He could feel the weight of her sadness at this. "She was always one of my favourites, Severus. You know that. And if I could just help her... it would make up for so many other things that I can't fix."

"You can't fix people. They're not like broken cups or chairs; they have to do it themselves."

"No. You can't." She looked at the empty place in Albus' picture again. "That's why I'm asking your opinion. I don't like manipulating people. I'm not Albus; I know what he would have done. He would of thought that he could have fixed her. The gormless git would have made sure that she ended up back here, even if meant forcing her hand to do so."

She sighed. "Before tonight, I was almost certain that coming back here, returning to the magical world, was the correct choice for her. She could heal, grow. I would have bet money that she would want to come back. Now? Now, I am not sure. Is it just wishful thinking?"

Snape thought about the emotions that he had felt in the charmed necklace, and the memories he had seen in St. Mungo's during her panic attack. He thought what he hadn't seen in her eyes that very evening.

"I don't know, Minerva. I only know you can't fix people."

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **Big changes occurring in this chapter, and the next several are just as jammed packed. Alas, I did something very rude to my wonderful beta, Muggle Jane- I sent her two chapters this week that are nearly 13,000 words. Not surprisingly, it is taking her a bit longer to get the chapters back to me; as a result, I'm not sure if this will be a one-chapter update week, or if I will be able to post something tomorrow after making my final edits.  
_

_Several story notes- for those of you who are not familiar with British lexicon, MI5 is the UK's domestic counter-intelligence and surveillance arm of the security services; the American equivalent would be something along the lines of a FBI/NSA hybrid. There was a rather lovely show on several years ago called 'Spooks' that takes places within a unit at MI5; the first several series in particular are worth a peek. _

_Also, if you are a swotty little student like I am and want to take Hermione's section of the lecture, start by reading Paul Rabinow's excellent book, 'Reflections on Fieldwork in Morocco'. It is much less dry than it sounds, and is fascinating examination of the perils and questions of doing in-depth ethnographic studies. It was one of my favorite texts during my graduate work. _

_Last but not least, three cheers to all who commented last week; it appears that ya'll took the 100 review challenge seriously and are chipping away at it! As I said earlier, the person who posts the 100th review will either get to read a week ahead, or get a one-shot chapter of their choice from a different POV. As of today's posting, we are at 88, so the end is near ;)_

_More importantly, the questions and comments raised last week were amazing and have brought much needed inspiration to my writing! Thanks to KEZZ 1, Cat130, LoveInTheBattleField, Luna de Papel, viola1701e, risi, BluePoppyDream, OnlyAMonster, Aliana and a guest who were nice enough leave me notes. My original musings for this chapter came from a comment made by catsgotmytongue several weeks ago. It was noted that Severus was on his way to finally being a well-rounded human being, but Hermione still needed some 'interior work'. So, dear reader, here is the start of that process! _

_Finally, a minor plea... I decided to also post on Ashwinder, but am not apparently smart enough to figure out how to activate my registration for the SH forums. I swear, the instructions are in greek for as much good as it's done me. If you are on the Ashwinder boards and can explain the process to me in a PM or comment, I would be much obliged._


	18. Chapter 17- No Limits on the Words

_**Chapter 17 No Limits on the Words**_

The following week sucked, for lack of a better word. The weather, always a fickle and temperamental thing, decided that it would bring a frigid and relentless rain rather than June sunshine. There was no change in the situation at work, and Hermione had been plagued by nightmares every night. They were not her normal nightmarish dreams- a minor blessing- but rather vague and disquieting landscapes that left her unsettled and red-eyed each dawn.

She greeted Friday with relief. The day had been passable, and she went home a bit early. She was sorting through the post on her end table when she felt a lance of pure fire run up her spine... and then there was nothing but utter darkness.

* * *

"Hermione?! Hermione, wake up! Wake up now, dammit, or I'll call the ambulance!"

There was a voice echoing about in the remains of her head. She tried to open her eyes, and groaned. It felt like her skull had been cleaved in two.

"Please... please Hermione, just wake up!" It was the fear in that voice that finally broke through the pain. She opened her eyes. Aditi was sitting on the floor beside her; a looming shadow slowly resolved itself into Aditi's husband, Rhys.

"Aditi?" she said weakly. "What... what happened? Why are you here?"

"Your cat. About an hour ago Rhys heard him at our door, yowling. We let him in because of the rain, but he just wouldn't stop..."

"Like bloody Lassie, he was," she heard Rhys say.

"So we walked over... and we could see you on the floor through the front window. Rhys remembered the spare key. We couldn't wake you up. You hit your head on the table, I think. I don't know if there is anything else wrong."

"What time is it?" she asked, trying to dispel the muzzy haze lingering about her thoughts.

"Almost nine-thirty. Hermione, should we call for an ambulance?"

"No." She pulled herself up off the floor, searching her memory. She had been sorting through the post, and she'd felt that pain... what time had that been? Five. It had been almost five. Which meant she'd been out cold for over four hours. The jolt of adrenaline brought by that fear-bourn realization cleared her the rest of her thoughts.

"Shit and bollocks! I should have known that this was going to happen..." _Little wonder it didn't happen earlier, considering how stressed you've been. _Cautiously, Hermione ran her fingers over the bump on her head. There was a small cut, but all in all it didn't seem too bad.

"Should have know that what was going to happen?" asked Rhys.

"I think I had another seizure." She kept her tone flat and free of the fear that what bubbling up inside her.

"I really think you need to go to hospital, Hermione. Seizures... that's not something you mess around with," Aditi said.

She stared at Aditi, trying to project competence, not her terror. "No. I understand your concern. But... I know what's wrong with me, and there is nothing that the doctors can do. Besides which, I think that I'm alright." She tried to shift to knees, and hissed as something in her hip twinged. "Mostly alright. Nothing worse than fall off of a bike. Truly," she amended, looking up at her friends.

Aditi gave in with sigh. "What do you want us to do? Do you want to call those... other people in London?" The last was said hesitantly.

Hermione considered it for a moment. She could call Richard, as a matter of fact. She had his number since he'd ask her out, and she was certain that he'd come if she asked. But a visit from him would generate far too many complications. "No. If it gets any worse, I'll call. But it's not necessary right now."

"What would you like us to do Hermione?"

"Well, let's start by getting me to the sofa..."

* * *

Eventually, Rhys carried her upstairs to her bedroom; Aditi spent the night. It felt wonderful to have someone curled in the bed with her; Aditi's warmth and soft, even breathing seemed to hold the shadows at bay. She slept, and for the first time all week, didn't dream.

* * *

They'd both been woken a little past eight by a hungry Crookshanks. Aditi went downstairs to feed him as Hermione made her way slowly to the loo. She had the makings of a truly spectacular black eye, and her hip was still sore; otherwise she felt decent enough.

As she changed out of her pyjamas, it occurred to her that it was Saturday, and she was due at Hogwarts in less than an hour. _Well, that's not going to happen. Even discounting the knock on the head and bruises, I just don't think I'm up to Apparating today. _ When she returned to her room, she sent Professor Snape a short email saying that she was sick and would be unable to assist him. _I hope he sees it sooner rather than later... _

Aditi already had chai and plate of toast ready when she came downstairs, and wore a look of stubborn determination.

"Thank you for checking on me last night, as well as staying. I appreciate it," Hermione said, wondering how long it would take for Aditi to say what was so clearly on her mind.

"You're welcome." Aditi paused and looked at her consideringly. "I think that I should stay with you today." Her friend appeared to be ready to argue her point, but Hermione only nodded.

"You aren't going to fight me about it?"

"No, Aditi. To be perfectly honest, I'm not keen on being by myself today. I was going to ask if you would stay."

"Well, I'm glad that we don't have to start the morning with that particular fight."

Hermione laughed a little. "Me too."

"Then I'm going to run home and change clothes, and then pick up some food at the shop. Hermione, do you know that only have a bottle of mustard, mouldy green cheese, and some applesauce in the fridge?"

"I've been busy!"

"Too busy to eat?" At Hermione's silence, Aditi shook her finger at her. "No wonder you passed out."

"Aditi, it's a little more complicated than that..."

"Pish. No arguments. When I come back, we're going to do some cooking. Or rather, I'm cooking, and you're eating!"

* * *

The early morning sun glinted sharply off the lake, almost blinding Snape as he ran along the shoreside trail. He rarely ran in the daytime; for one thing, he preferred running at night as a final resort to his frequent bouts of sleeplessness. Mostly, though, he hated jogging at Hogwarts when the students were about. They didn't need to see him all sweaty and in battered trainers; they did not need to see beyond the persona of 'Professor Snape' to the actual man who lived within the billowing black robes. For those reasons, he mostly ran at night when there was no one to see him and wonder.

Accordingly, he had greeted the end of term with relief; he could go and do as he pleased without dealing with the stares and whispers of the student body. For today, that meant running at dawn and watching the sunrise over the grounds and lake in all of its storybook perfection.

Snape wondered as he neared the castle how the Slytherin students were handling the summer holiday. Several, he was positive, would not be returning for a seventh year; given that he had murdered their parents, he was disinclined to blame them. Still, the year hadn't ended in a total failure. Thanks to Greengrass and Miss Farley, the House had for the most part accepted his leadership. They did not come to him with problems, but the other students trusted the two prefects as intermediaries and he was able to assist with matters in that fashion. It was an uneasy truce, and Snape questioned if he'd be able to build any further relationships with the current crop of pupils.

_September is twelve weeks off; you can change nothing at the moment. Best spend your holiday actually taking a rest so when you face the Mongol Hordes, you will be in top form..._

* * *

Rather than remain in his rooms after showering, he decided to stick his head in the infirmary and see if Poppy wanted to have breakfast with him. The Healer was an early riser; as he entered the hospital ward, he saw that she was already up and working. Balanced on a stool, she was checking the potions stores in the supply room. _Perfect, _he thought. _I can help her sort, and confirm how many of the potions are acceptable and which of those came from inferior brewers. _

"Poppy?" he called, Poppy gave a little jolt, and twisted backwards on the stool. To his horror, he saw her begin to fall. As she fought for balance, her hand grabbed at one the top shelves, and it cracked, sending the large glass potions bottles raining down upon her in a series of sickening cracks.

He sprinted past the rows of beds to the back of the room, reaching her side just as the sounds of the glassware shattering ceased. Unconscious, Poppy sported several very deep lacerations on head and arms, and he could smell the spilt potions she was laying in beginning to combine and react violently. Seizing her under the arms, he dragged her out of the closet and placed her on the nearest bed. Spinning back to the storeroom, he hit the area with a quick _e__vanesco _charm and then scourgified the room for good measure. Quickly examining the broken shelf, he confirmed that no other jars were in danger of falling and rushed back over the bed.

Part of her dress had been burnt away by the mixture of potions; he decided that it would be best to use the Scourgify Charm on her as well to stop any further reactions. The spell cleaned her up, but only for an instant. Blood welled up rapidly from her wounds, running down her head and left arm in a terrifying rivulets.

He started a mental triage list; she was breathing without a problem, and he could feel a weak pulse, but as far as circulation went... The cut on her arm appeared to be the most serious injury. He was fairly certain she had nicked the brachial artery; he could see the blood flow wane and surge with the thready rhythm of her pulse. Abruptly, he realized that he was shaking like a leaf and in real danger of falling over himself. Summoning a stool over, he sat and began casting a raft of healing spells over the comatose witch.

* * *

It took almost twenty minutes to repair the worst of the damage; he was just closing up a long cut behind her ear when Poppy's eyelids began to flutter. He held his breath as her eyes opened and her gaze began to focus.

"Severus?" she murmured in confusion.

"Stay still," he said. "I scared you, and you took a bit of fall."

Her befuddled gaze swept over her blood covered form, and then over to his. "It looks like a lot more than a simple fall."

"It was. You took about half the potions storeroom down with you." Reaching over to one of the phials that he had placed on the bedside table, he helped her sit up. "Here, drink more of the blood-replenishing potion."

She did as she was bid without further questions, and another ten minutes passed as he continued to work quietly on the various cuts and burns that littered her torso.

He was examining her right leg when she reached down and touched the top of his head.

"Severus, I am fine."

Looking into her steady blue stare, he let himself start to relax. "I'm sorry, Poppy. I didn't mean to startle you..."

"This wasn't your fault. It serves me right for working with my back to the door and not paying proper attention."

"I know, but if I hadn't..."

Both her voice and regard sharpened considerably. "Severus, stop. I will not have you blaming yourself for something that was not your doing. I was the one badly balanced on the stool, and I've known those shelves needed replacing ages ago. Did you mean to hurt me?" she queried suddenly.

"No, of course not!" he said, sitting up straight in indignation.

"Then, obviously, none of this was your fault. Moreover, you appear to have done a wonderful job of healing me." She put her hand up, clearly seeing the protest in his expression. "Not your fault, Severus," she intoned firmly. "You will not take responsibility for this, is that understood?"

He opened his mouth to debate the point, but closed it again upon reflecting that he didn't really care about winning the argument. He had been at fault, no matter what she said. If he hadn't scared her half to death, she wouldn't have fallen...

She read his thoughts easily. Placing a gentle hand under his chin, she nudged his head up until he was looking her in the eye. "Oh, Severus," she sighed. "You can be such a glutton for punishment sometimes. Come, help me up so I can go to my rooms and get changed." Glancing over to the clock, she spoke again. "Isn't almost time for Hermione to arrive, anyway?"

He didn't even spare the clock a look as offered his arm. "She can bloody well wait. Are you sure you can walk?"

* * *

Snape hovered uselessly in the hallway while Poppy changed in the washroom; she was pale-faced and sweaty when she finally emerged. Helping her into bed, he tucked her firmly under the covers and sat down on the edge of mattress.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, trying to keep his voice smooth. His thoughts, however, were anything but; he kept replaying the moment of her fall. The potions bottles breaking upon her...

"I want you to stop blaming yourself," she said with some asperity. "However, as that appears to be a Sisyphean endeavour, let us speak of something else." Her manner shifted from mildly irritated to coolly assessing in a flash. "Hermione. What have you decided to do, Severus? Are you going to take her on as apprentice, or let Minerva offer for her?"

Clamping down on the sudden spurt of temper her words provoked, he stared at her for a long moment. "I don't want to talk about it, Poppy."

She didn't flinch under his growing ire; instead her face took on the stern, no-nonsense look that he well remembered from his youth. "Are you going to walk away from me then?"

"No." he ground out, seeing that she meant to force the conversation.

"Then it seems we will be discussing the topic, doesn't it?"

He scowled at her in silence.

"One would think you were five, not almost fifty with that pout."

"I am but forty-six, Poppy. Not fifty."

Her mouth lifted in subtle humour at his ready protestation. "Oh, don't get all tetchy with me, Severus. You are wizard, not a Muggle. Fifty is hardly a drop in the bucket." Narrowing her gaze, she continued. "And don't think to avoid the question. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he said in frustration. Walking over to the window, he let his eyes travel blindly over the landscape. He heard her huff of exasperation, and turned back around to face her. "Truly, Poppy. I'm not trying to be difficult. But do you even think that it's wise for Granger to return here?"

"I don't think that is the problem that you need to concern yourself with. After all, Hermione is an adult and can make up her own mind about whether or not to return."

"You don't think it's an important consideration?"

"For you? No. Minerva, possibly. But you? No, not at all; what you need to decide is if you want to give her the option of apprenticing under you." At his scoff of disapproval, she explained. "For what it's worth, I do think that coming back to the wizarding world, at least temporarily, is the correct thing for her. She needs to put some of her demons to rest, and she can't do that hiding out as a Muggle. Moreover..." she sighed softly, sadness infusing her voice, "...I don't think she really has a choice. If her illness progresses along the norm, she will worsen in the next year or so. We are better equipped to handle that part of the problem, at least."

"Wouldn't her increasing illness be a good argument as to why I shouldn't offer her an apprenticeship?"

His question earned him a stern glare. "The two of you are working on the very solution to her problem, and are the most likely to come up with a cure. Really, Severus..."

She shook her head at him in censure. "I kept repeating the point, and you kept trying to weasel your way around it. All you need to worry about is if you want to offer for her or not. That is all. The rest... well, the rest is for others to parse out."

"I'm not being deliberately obtuse, Poppy." He sat down upon the mattress next to her again. "You know why I'm hesitating. I'm content with things as they are..."

Poppy reached over and took one of his hands in her own. "You need to let others into your life, Severus. I don't mean to be morbid, but what if something did happen to me?" As his start, she tightened her grip. "You would be alone again, and breaks my heart to think what you would do to yourself if that happened. But... it's more than that. You really are a glutton for punishment. You ever only let yourself have these little tastes of freedom, of felicity." Leaning forward, her tone grew vehement. "The war is over, and you atoned for your sins a long time ago; it's time to let yourself be happy. You need friends, positive relationships for that to happen. And I think taking Hermione on as an apprentice will be a huge step in that direction."

He wanted to pull away from her, from her words. She made it all sound so easy..."Why Granger? Why can't it wait awhile?"

"Because you know her, and on a certain level, you do trust her. Hasn't your work together during the last four months shown that? Besides which, she knows enough of your life to not be a complete idiot; whilst she respects you, she doesn't hold you in either awe or fear."

She squeezed his hand. "Answer me these: have you enjoyed working with her?"

"Yes."

"Is she not the brightest student that you ever had?"

"Other students far exceeded her abilities in potions."

"Oh, don't be pedantic, Severus. You know what mean. She's bloody brilliant, and the only person who could possibly be your equal in theoretical potions work."

"Yes, she is." He said it grudgingly.

"Final question: Do you really want to see her as Minerva's apprentice? Because I assure you, if you aren't smart enough to snatch the woman up, Minerva will have no compunction in doing so. She's been searching for a replacement the last five years."

Poppy raised an arched eyebrow at his silence and fulminant glower. "If you are ever going to trust me, trust me on this subject. Go talk with her."

* * *

Granger wasn't in his rooms when he entered. Walking into the laboratory, he made his way over the computer and checked his email. Sure enough, there was a brief message from her. _"My apologies for the short notice, but am sick and will be unable to assist today. HG"._ Snape felt his temper finally break, and he contemplated sending her a harshly worded reply in return. _Hah. All that meddling of Poppy's is for naught!_ Still... he was in no mood to wait until Tuesday's class to have the discussion with her. _Sick, is she? More like avoiding me. She was hiding something last Tuesday, and it wasn't any better on Thursday... _

He tapped his fingers on the desk, impatience and anger rolling through him. Making a sudden decision, he reached into the desk for his mobile phone. _She's not getting off the hook that easily. Come hell or highwater, we are having a discussion today if I have to go to Wales to do so._

* * *

When Hermione's mobile rang for the third time in as many minutes, she almost didn't pick it up out of sheer annoyance. Figuring that not answering would only send Aditi off into a panic however, she flipped open her phone and started talking.

"Aditi, I'm fine, you can stop calling! I haven't gone into convulsions and swallowed my tongue. A subdural haematoma is not currently overtaking my brain, and I've yet to fall down the stairs and break my back! I haven't even moved from the sofa..."

"Are you in some danger of swallowing your tongue, Granger?" The voice on the other end wasn't Aditi's. It was highly irritated, and male. She looked down in confusion at the screen on her mobile; it was an unknown number from Manchester.

"Professor Snape?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor for that sterling deduction. Now, I repeat, are you in some danger of swallowing your tongue?"

"Clearly not, as I am currently speaking with you. How did you get this number?"

"I rang George. Did something happen?"

"I had a seizure last night... Wait, you called George? On a mobile?"

"Yes, Granger. I do believe that I have previously demonstrated my ability to utilize modern technology."

She shook her head, bemused and nettled all at the same time. _Why on earth would he call me?_ "Did you receive my email?"

"Yes, I saw it."

"So why did you ring?"

"We need to discuss several things." She felt a sharp lurch in her belly at his statement; he didn't sound much happier about whatever it was, either.

"Can it wait until Tuesday night? I'm not feeling well at the moment." It was the best excuse she could come up with.

"No. Where are you?"

She took her time in answering. _He isn't really proposing to come out here, is he?_ "My flat."

"Can you be a little more specific than that?"_ Maybe he won't want to come all the way to Wales..._

"6 Cae'r-Gog Terrace, Aberystwyth SY23 1EP." She rattled off her address.

"Thank you." A heavy dose of sarcasm inflected his tone. "I will be there in a half-hour."

"Lovely." She responded, matching his vitriol. He hung up without another word, and she fought the urge to fling her mobile across the room. _Let's hope he is here and gone before Aditi returns!_

* * *

In the twenty-nine minutes it took for Professor Snape to arrive, Hermione had worked herself into quite the temper. Dimly, she recognized that it was that or reveal her fear; she wasn't up to concealing her emotions from him on this day.

When she opened the door, it was to find him in Muggle clothes, holding a stainless steel travel mug. He looked so effortlessly normal- Muggle- that it momentarily shocked her out of her anger. His hair was pulled back again, and he wore the long black woollen overcoat over a grey jumper and jeans.

He finally raised an eyebrow. "May I come in? I'm getting wet."

"Of course." She stepped back and he walked in. "Grab a seat," she went on, motioning towards the living room. She started to make her way back to her favourite chair, but he stopped her by handing her the travel mug.

"Here. Drink this." His gesture as he shoved the mug at her was curt.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm hardly going to poison you, Granger."

His snide tone provided the spark that rekindled her temper. She snapped back at him, "And I wasn't insinuating that you were. As my friends have already seen me with this black eye, it behoves me to ensure that there is nothing in this potion that would require me to make any further complicated explanations."

His mouth tightened. _Good, _she thought. _I'd really hate to be the only one annoyed right now. _"It is a mild analgesic and muscle relaxant. Any bruising will remain unchanged."

"Thank you." She took the mug from him and limped over to her chair. Sitting down gingerly, she unscrewed the cap and knocked back the concoction in one swallow. "Uggg. This tastes atrocious, FYI."

"And yet, I somehow manage to get it down every morning without complaining."

"Which only proves that you are a glutton for punishment!" The second the words escaped her mouth, Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth, absolutely horrified at what she'd said to Professor Snape, of all people. A man who had endured more punishment than she could even begin to contemplate...

The air in the living room suddenly vibrated with the force of his rage, and Hermione braced herself for the outburst that was sure to come. In between the space of one heartbeat and another, however, he contrived to shove all of his visible emotions... elsewhere. She found his complete blankness somehow more terrifying than any possible loss of control.

He did not say a word, and she held her breath, waiting. Finally, his gaze slide to point somewhere to her left, and then slowly back to her. When their eyes met again, she felt like a pinned rabbit under the weight of his fierce stare.

"Forgive me." She spoke to him softly, carefully. "That was incredibly rude, as well as uncalled for. I've had a crap week, and I should not have taken my temper out on you."

When he finally spoke, it was in a voice so ruthlessly controlled that it sounded almost mechanical. "Do you wish to return the magical world, Doctor Granger?"

"I told you... I don't know yet," she whispered. He didn't so much as blink. She scrambled to come up with a better answer; loath as she was to disclose her fears, she knew that she had to say something further, especially given her monumental blunder.

Hermione closed her eyes, finding that words came a bit easier when she didn't have to see his empty expression. "I am happy here. If... if I weren't ill, I think the answer would be no. But I am sick, and it is becoming increasingly clear that I need to deal with whatever this is in a more proactive manner." She opened her eyes, searching for anything human in his black gaze. "The thought of going back terrifies me. I don't know if I can face all of my memories, not to mention my choices... like sending my parents to their deaths." Her voice broke, and for a horrible moment, Hermione thought she was going to start crying. "I erased their memories and then I sent them to place where they would burn to death." She barely got her final words out, aware she was on the verge of babbling. "I just don't know..."

She couldn't look at him, so she stared at her hands. In the silence that followed, she heard the soft sound of Crookshanks padding down the stairs and across the living room. A second later, he jumped onto her lap, and she wound her fingers through his thick orange fur seeking comfort.

"The Headmistress would like to make some rather large changes to the Hogwarts curriculum." Professor Snape's tone hadn't altered or softened. "Specifically, she would like to modify the Muggle Studies courses, and make mandatory for third and fourth years. Instead of the traditional teachings, she wants it to focus on the fundamentals of science; geology, biology, chemistry. A survey course, if you will. Eventually, she would like the later years to align with upper science A-levels. She would like you to teach the courses."

"I don't have any N.E.W.T.S," she said, shocked into finally meeting his eyes. "Doesn't that render me ineligible to teach?"

"Ordinarily, yes. However, exceptions are made for those who enter an apprenticeship with a member of staff. The Headmistress has said that she would take you on, as would Flitwick and Sinistra. Or..." his words trailed off.

"Or?" she asked.

"Or, you could become my apprentice." _Oh my, _she thought with dismay. _I really bollocksed this entire conversation, didn't I? _

He continued."You would still have to sit for exams within the first two years. More than likely, it would take an additional two to three years to gain your mastery."

If he had anything further to say, it was cut off by the sound of a key in the front door. With a whoosh, the door opened, and Aditi's cheery greeting rang out. "Hermione, I'm back! Wait until you see..."

At the sound of Aditi's entry, Professor Snape had risen and whirled; for a moment, all Hermione could see was his back, standing as he was between her and the door. She struggled to her feet, and stepped around him so she could see her friend.

Aditi stood frozen in the foyer, a grocery sack starting to slip from her grasp. "Aditi, come in," Hermione started. "This is..." she stopped, not sure how to proceed. Should she even introduce Professor Snape?

"Severus Snape," he said with a stiff bow. Aditi moved into the living room cautiously, placing the groceries on the end of the sofa.

"Sir," Aditi acknowledged cautiously.

"And this is one of my colleagues, Dr. Aditi Kapoor," Hermione finished somewhat lamely.

"I should be leaving." Professor Snape responded, and turned back to Hermione. "Minerva will want to know your answer as soon as possible; she wants someone in the position before September."

"Dr. Kapoor," he said, giving her a shallow nod, and swept from the room.

The front door shut again, and both Hermione and Aditi collapsed onto the couch.

"That was one of your London people, wasn't it?" Aditi asked in a small voice.

"Yes," she replied weakly.

"He gave me such a scare when I opened the door..."

"He's... not normally that bad. I said something rather unforgivable to him right before you came in," Hermione admitted, feeling her face flush with remembered shame.

"Still..." Aditi gazed her questioningly. "He's a dangerous man, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. But he also saved my life several times over. He's a good man, Aditi."

Crookshanks jumped onto the sofa with a disgusted grumble, and began to rub his head on Aditi's outstretched hands. "Yes, kitty," she murmured. "I brought you paneer. " She looked back to Hermione. "He was offering you a job, wasn't he?"

"Yes." She saw the empty travel mug then, sitting on the coffee table. Groaning, she buried her face with her hands. He'd not only come all the way out to her, but brought something to make her feel better, and then offered her an apprenticeship. She... well, she had been ill-mannered and in the middle of a completely self-indulgent fit.

"He offered me a brilliant position as a matter of fact, and I was a bloody idiot to him the entire time."

"What are you going to do, Hermione?" Aditi's question was soft, and full of concern.

"Well, I think I'll start by quitting this little pity party I've been throwing myself." She laughed a little unsteadily; it was that or start crying again. "I think cooking some curries would be the best way to start the process, don't you think?" She got up off the sofa and gave her hand to Aditi. "Tomorrow, I'll go visit some old friends in Devon and see what they have to say. Beyond that? I don't know yet."

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **All hail the lovely Muggle Jane, who sent me edits quickly enough to post a second chapter this weekend! _

_I've received several PM's asking me to explain the meanings and choices behind my chapter titles; as I mentioned earlier, they mostly come from whatever song that I was listening to whilst writing the section. For this chapter, the song is by the late, great Jason Molina and the band Songs:Ohia, and is called "No Limits on the Words. Lyrics as follows:_

_put no limits on the words  
simply to live, that is my plan (x2)  
in a city that breaks us  
I will say nothing (x4)  
I can tell that the shadow likes you still  
like the memory, my heart keeps remembering  
that simply to live that was my plan (x2)  
and I will say nothing (x4)_

_Give it a listen; Jason Molina passed away a little over a year ago, but left behind an amazing legacy of music. Much of his work dealt with darker emotions in life, and his spare, almost unaccompanied style does the struggle justice. Some of my other favorite songs from him are 'Lioness', 'North Star', 'Get out, Get out, Get out', 'Dark Don't Hide It' (used for Chapter 11), and 'Let me go'._

_I'll post the full song and artist titles from all of the chapters in next week's notes. As always, my thanks for reading and commenting!_


	19. Chapter 18- Slowness

_A/N- Two quotes from last week's comments that are worth repeating- first off, a good laugh came from OnlyAMonster, who said, 'Oooohh Hermione you dun fucked up!' Yes indeedy, she certainly did. However, she wasn't the only one. O__rlando switch noted that, 'It seems both of them have their pity parties, only in a different way'. So, how to move on?_

_**Chapter 19 Slowness**_

Poppy was fast asleep when Snape returned to the Castle, which was a fortuitous turn of luck given his infuriated and rapidly worsening mood. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, should the Healer try and speak with him on the topic of Hermione Granger again, he would well and truly lose his temper. Accordingly, he had renewed the monitoring charm that he'd placed over her and spent the rest of the day in his quarters. Worry nagged at him endlessly however, and he finally broke down at half past eight and went back to her rooms.

Poppy appeared much better, and the monitoring charm showed that she was recovering well from the morning's misadventures. She was sitting up in bed reading a book, or at least attempting to. She looked up at his bellicose entry and smiled.

"You shouldn't be reading this soon after a concussion," he stated, glaring.

"I'm bored," she responded with a shrug. "As you healed me so well, it's hardly a risk."

Summoning a comfortable chair from her living room, he sat down. "What is it that you always told me as a student? Ah, yes, I remember now..." Shifting into bossy tone, he went on. "You need quiet and rest, Miss Pomfrey. No reading, and no homework!"

She looked at him dryly. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander, eh?"

"In our case, I believe the saying should be 'what's good for the gander is good for the goose', but yes. Now hand over the book." He stuck his hand out in a clear command.

"Severus, really. I am perfectly fine, only bored. I need something to do... unless you would rather have me get up to find a task," she said, the last coming out in a wheedling plea.

He just smirked down at her, and continued to hold out his hand. "Manipulation will not work on me, Poppy. I will tie you down to the bed should the situation require, and I reckon Minerva would back me in this case. Now hand me the book." He raised an eyebrow in warning at her when she did not comply. "If you give it to me right now, I will consent to read it to you."

She gave in with a unhappy sigh. "It's in French."

"Je parle français, comme vous le savez bien." He read the title, and then rolled his eyes. "_Le Rouge et le Noir_, Poppy? I suppose I should be grateful it's not _Les Justes_."

"That's on the third shelf from the right, should you prefer it instead," she responded with an evil grin.

"Don't test me, witch," he grumbled. Summoning a glass of water to go with the chair, he began to read. "La petite ville de Verrières peut passer pour l'une des plus jolies de la Franche-Comté..."

* * *

Snape read out loud for almost an hour before Poppy fell back asleep. Putting the book down carefully, he examined her. He didn't think she would have any scars from the incident, but she was still covered in a myriad of small lacerations and bruises that neither had bothered with. Idly, he wondered if he could find a spell that was a bit more refined to heal the remaining wounds; the castings he had used that morning would be akin to dropping an anvil on an ant. _Surely, the Healers have come up with something a tad more efficient..._

Twisting in the chair, he started to search her bookcase for textbooks. Several minutes later, he found what he wanted; _Episkey Epidermis: A Practical Guide to Healing The Most Common Skin Ailments. _Snagging it from the shelf he began to flip through the table of contents with interest, getting neatly derailed by a chapter on hexed-based scars and boils.

Eventually, Poppy gave a restless twitch and he recalled himself; he could borrow the book later, he knew, but had only a limited amount of time to try and fix the leftover damage before she woke. Going back to the table of contents, he found a likely section and started to skim the text. About halfway through the chapter, he found the spell he was looking for: _Emaculo Integer. _

_Emaculo Integer, _the book said, _is specialized healing spell that 'cleans' the entire epidermis of recent non-magical damage such as cuts, abrasions, minor lacerations and burns. Its efficiency is restricted to the upper two layers or the dermis, and has little positive effect on damage done to the s__tratum reticulare..._

He read through the instructions and warnings carefully, and then cross-checked the alternate spells listed to make sure that _Emaculo Integer _was indeed the best choice. Deciding that it was better to test it on himself, he took a deep breath and emptied his mind of all thoughts but that of the spell. Murmuring the incantation, he imbued the words with both his magic and intent.

It felt like cool, moist wind blowing on his skin, which glowed with green undertones; he watched in fascination as the scratches on his arms faded to nothing, and the lingering soreness turned into a mild tingle that had an almost minty quality to it. _Huh, _he thought. _That certainly worked well enough. Should I try it on her, though? Better ask first, or I'll have further repairs to make on my own skin. _

"Poppy... Poppy, wake up," he said softly, touching her shoulder.

"Mmmm, yes?" was the sluggish response. After a moment of silence, her blue eyes met his, and her gaze widened as she took in the open text book on his lap and his accompanied expression. "Wanting to making a guinea pig of of me, Severus?"

"I was curious," he replied. "And bored, as I had no audience. So I started to raid your books."

"What spell do you want to try?"

"_Emaculo Integer._"

"That's a good choice, although not without limitations. It can't fix underlying structures for example, but is lovely when you have a lot of little, minor wounds. I used it last year when a pair of snogging Hufflepuffs fell through a first floor window. Have you tried it on yourself yet?"

"Yes," he said. "I once had a rather demanding instructor that insisted on first hand knowledge when at all possible as to better facilitate patient care..."

She snorted lightly at his words."It is vital to understand the patient's point of view and be able to validate their experiences and trauma; personal knowledge can do much to bridge the gap between healer and patient." Giving him an arch look, she continued. "As you well know. Now, this is a spell that works best when done non-verbally, applied through a combination of touch and visualization. It's always looked a bit like a blue mist for me, but it might be different for you. I found it best to let the spell settle over the entire body, and then focus it on specific areas one by one."

"It was green when I cast it."

"Once a Slytherin..." she stretched her hand out to him, and he took it. "Centre yourself and proceed, Severus."

"Yes, ma'am." Wiping the smirk from his face, he took several measured breaths to clear his thoughts again, and then brought his focused intent to heal her to the forefront of his mind. Exhaling, he mentally said the incantation, and watched through half-lidded eyes as she began to glow a bright green. He followed her instructions, allowing the spell envelope the Healer fully before pushing his magic onto each area gently. The green darkened as he increased his magical concentration; exhaling again, he finally ended the spell, which hung in the air briefly.

They sat in silence for a moment; he enjoyed a lingering feeling of peace. For once, it had been nice to clean his mind not in preparation for the hard shields of Occlumency and locking the world away, but instead to cast a healing spell and reaching out to someone.

Poppy looked bemused when he met her eyes. "Minty. Interesting. It's vaguely floral when I cast it." She gave his hand a squeeze, and he saw that her skin was again flawless. "That was deftly and thoroughly done as ever. Should you ever fancy a second mastery, I'd gladly take you on as an apprentice. You are an excellent healer."

He sat back in the chair, releasing her hand. "Severus Snape, Healer? That would be the day..."

"I am being serious. I have always thought you had the talent for it."

Voice full of exasperation he asked, "Poppy, do you know how many people I've killed? Because, truthfully, I do not. Many, I know that much. And you propose making me a healer?"

"None of that negates the fact that you have both the talent, and unless I'm very much wrong, the calling for it."

"What are you going on about?" The feeling of peace fled in the face of the oncoming rush of his anger.

She caught the emotions running through him, and her face assumed the stern lines of earlier in the day. "You have always tried to fix situations and people, Severus. You may have attempted it in a sneaky and all together Slytherin fashion, but all the same, that intent, that inherent need improve matters has always been there. Take your potions work, for example: the best of it has always centred on healing draughts or potions."

"Which I needed to fix myself, Poppy. I certainly wasn't doing it for the betterment of wizarding-kind," he snarled.

"And yet, the vast majority of those potions found their way into my sickrooms, and the formulas were shared with St. Mungo's." Her sternness had been replaced by an ire that matched his. "Tell me, how many more healing spells did you teach yourself after I instructed you on the basics?"

Lowering the level of her voice, she spoke again. "How many Slytherins did you heal over the years? Many, I know that much," she said, purposely echoing his earlier phrase. "I wasn't blind; I saw that the majority of your students, especially in the later years, were loath to come to me so you healed them instead. I also know that you taught many of the students the same spells I showed you, just in case they too were left alone and without help." She leaned forward and cupped his cheek in her palm.

"Severus, just because you are not comfortable with the term 'healer' doesn't mean that you haven't been acting as one all of these years."

Her regard was unwavering as she stared at him. "Yes, you have done evil things. But that fact alone does not make you an evil man, just as doing good acts does not make one a wholly good person." She swallowed visibly. "You are like rest of us; a work in progress whose sum value can only be measured at the end."

"Why do you have such faith in me, Poppy?" His voice came out in strangled whisper, and he couldn't bear to look at her expression.

He heard the rustle of the bedcovers, and then Poppy was forcing his head back up to meet her gaze. "Because I love you, Severus. Because despite the fact you have been thrown to the wolves more times than I care to count, you still act out of love, out of loyalty. Time and time again, you put yourself in harm's way, full well knowing that any possible reward you might receive would not began to cover the cost."

This time, it was tears running down his face, and Poppy's voice that had gone rough. "Do you think me an evil person?" she asked.

"No. Never!" he said fiercely.

"Then what if I told you that you weren't the only murder in this room? During the Second Battle of Hogwarts, I didn't just act as a Healer; I was full combatant, and believe you me, I have no issues with casting killing curses when the lives of students are at risk."

"That is not murder, Poppy. That was defence."

"You think so? What say you about this..." One hand slid down his cheek to take his hand. "When Hermione... after she killed that group of Death Eaters in the Great Hall, we were finally able re-secure the building. It was Minerva who came across the the single remaining Death Eater. They duelled, and he lost, badly. He was brought up here for treatment; she hit him with the Entrail-Expelling Curse at the end. The ward was in utter chaos. We were trying to transfer people to St. Mungo's and... well, it was easy to manipulate things to my liking."

She sighed, and looked down at their entwined hands for a moment. "He was bound to the bed, and in enormous pain. By far, he was the worst injury and should have been treated first. But as bad as they were, his injuries were not fatal. However, I did not treat him, or send him onto St. Mungo's. Do you know what I did? I turned around, and went to work on the others. When I returned to his bedside an hour later, he had just died."

He stared at her, feeling like he had been hit by a Bludger. "I broke every single Healer's Oath I ever swore that day. And do you know I felt when I stood over his bed, looking at his cooling corpse?" She paused, and the emotions in her eyes were intense and compelling. "I felt pleasure at his death. I took great satisfaction that he had died slowly, painfully and alone."

She intoned the next statement carefully, and firmly. "I feel no regret at that man's death. Does that make me evil, Severus?"

"No."

"Why not?" Her voice had softened, as had her continence.

He swallowed, searching for the words. "Because you've done so many other good things. And that action... It was in the middle of a war..."

Poppy finished his statement. "Yes, we were at war. But ultimately, it comes down to this- I am only human, Severus, and thus a flawed and imperfect creature. Some days, I will triumph over my baser nature, and some days I will not. It is as I said... we are but works in progress. Think on this: you too were in the middle of the war. I wish you apply that same logic to your self-hatred."

Closing his eyes, he whispered the next words. "I am afraid. Poppy. Everything I do... in the end it always goes to shit." He opened his eyes. "I don't know how to do any of it properly. And now you want me to apprentice Granger... you make it sound like it should be so easy!"

"It won't be." She gave a giant sigh. "But you won't be alone, either. What did you tell her, the day that she first returned to Hogwarts? 'Things get easier only when we try'. It was excellent advice. You should take it yourself."

Poppy patted his hand, and stood. "Come, I feel the need for tea."

"Just tea, or Minerva's notion of tea?"

She rubbed her face. "Minerva's version isn't a bad idea."

He sat quietly in her living room while she brewed the tea and poured. "So," she said, "What happened today with Hermione?"

"She had a seizure last night, and wasn't feeling well enough to come."

The Healer's face wrinkled in concern. "Just how bad was it?"

"I didn't really get all of the details. She looked well enough when I saw her."

"You saw her?"

"I went to her flat in Wales," he grumbled.

"She invited you?"

"No."

"You went all the way over to Wales, uninvited, and you didn't bother to inquire any further about her health?" she asked him with familiar asperity.

"I took her a healing draught."

She slanted him a challenging look over the rim of her tea cup. "And then, oh-man-who-is-not-a-healer, what happened?"

"She yelled at me."

"About coming over?"

"No. She called me a glutton for punishment." He sat his cup down on the saucer with a firm clink, and glared at her.

"She didn't..." Poppy's expression was suddenly one of barely suppressed mirth. He said nothing, just continued to scowl. She chuckled, and then seeing his expression, began to laugh in earnest.

Finally wiping tears from her face and gathering up her composure again, she went on. "Oh, bless that woman. I liked her as I child, but I must say, she has matured into a most delightful adult. So, she yelled at you... did you yell back?"

"No."

Poppy waited for him to go on.

"I restrained myself from yelling, hexing or otherwise harming her. Although it was a very close thing." He sent her a look of disgust. "Despite her childish behaviour, I explained Minerva's plan, and offered to apprentice her."

"And what did she say?"

"We were interrupted by a friend before she could give me an answer."

"In other words, you took the first opportunity to storm off and did not give her the chance to apologise or respond."

"One might construe the situation that way."

The last traces of mirth disappeared from the Healer's face, and she grew serious. "How did she look, Severus? Behind all of that anger and bravado."

He recalled Granger's face as she had first opened the door to her flat. There had been anger, yes... "She had the look of someone being boxed into a corner, and fighting it every step of the way."

"She is being forced into a corner, Severus. On some level she understands how sick she is, and knows that it is rapidly limiting her choices. You, of all people, can appreciate how that particular sentiment might make her feel. Little wonder she picked a fight with you when you invited yourself over for a chat."

"She said as much." She smirked a little at his reluctant admission.

"Almost fifty years experience as a Healer rarely steers me wrong."

"And what, oh-woman-who-has-an-answer-for-everything, should I do next? Somehow I doubt very much my invitation to return to Hogwarts and work as my apprentice was very well received."

"So you do admit that you want her as an apprentice?"

"I asked her, didn't I?"

Poppy tapped her finger on the table. "Say it, Severus."

"Yes, I want her to be my apprentice," he spat, scowling deeply. "Happy?"

"Now that you are finally admitting your wants, yes." She smiled at him. "You will see her on Tuesday night, correct?"

"If she bothers to come."

The Healer sent him a chiding look. "She will. It's not as if she hasn't seen your temper before. Give her a few days to think matters over, and apologise to her after your class," She sent him a firm look. "...yes, Severus, you need to use words this time; you can't just do something nice. Then hear her out. I imagine she will have a thing or two to say in return. I don't know if she will accept your offer, but you at least are giving her a choice."

* * *

Hermione went to Devon the following day as promised, and discussed the situation with Arthur and Molly. To her great relief, they seemed to understand her reluctance to return fully to the wizarding world, and did not press her to take up the position at Hogwarts.

She spent most of the day with Molly in the kitchen, canning the season's first strawberry rhubarb jam. A soothingly domestic chore, the task helped to work out some of her physical and mental knots. When they finished the last batch of jam, Molly spread it thickly onto two slices of bread along with butter. Handing the bundle to Hermione, she pushed her through the backdoor to the garden.

"Take a slice to Arthur; strawberry rhubarb jam has always been his favourite." Molly smiled softly. "I'm surprised that he hasn't been in here already begging for some. Go, while it's still warm." She gave another push, and Hermione obeyed the gentle instructions.

The sun was warm, and Hermione was lulled into a feeling of peaceful contentment as she meandered through the comfortably overgrown paths and pots, hearing the buzz of bees and giggles of gnomes. She finally found Arthur at the near the back wall of the garden, sitting on a bench. Some of her peace dissolved as she saw the clear grief written upon his expression; she was struck anew with how changed he was from the man she had met so many years before.

When he saw her and what she carried, however, all traces of sorrow disappeared. He patted the empty spot next him, and eagerly took the piece of bread she proffered. They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, and she felt her eyes start to grow sleepy.

Arthur licked the final bits of jam of his fingers. "I am lucky man, am I not?." He gestured towards the house. "She can't stand rhubarb, but she's always made my favourite jam first. Thirty-eight years, and she still seeks to make me happy." Arthur looked down at her, his love for wife and family etched into the many lines of his face. "I hope that you can find someone who does the same for you, Hermione."

"Me, too," she said, feeling a pinch of loss; her parents had been in love much like Molly and Arthur.

After a moment, he shifted slightly on the bench to better face her. "I might be able to make your decision to return a bit easier. Have you heard of the Kentigernus Institute?"

She thought for a moment. "It's Muggle medical research centre in Aberdeen, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "It's a medical research institution, but not wholly Muggle."

"Wait... Kentigernus... that's another name for St. Mungo, right?"

"It is another name for St. Mungo, yes, and is affiliated with St. Mungo's. They perform medical research there, but it's also a cover for those witches and wizards that have to go back and forth between the Muggle and magical worlds. I'm friends with the director. If you wish, we could get you on the list on employees. Should things not go well, or you find that you prefer one life over the other, you would not be stuck with hard-to-explain gaps in your CV. "

Her mind raced with possibilities as she thought through the ramifications of having so neat an out; she considered what it would mean for the various relationships in her life.

"Arthur... do you know why Ginny is so mad at me?" She'd wanted to ask the question for sometime, but never had the courage.

His tone was dry when he responded. "I wondered if you would ever ask." Pausing, he stretched and she heard the joints in his back pop. "I believe that part of it is just as Harry said; pregnancy hormones can make the most reasonable woman stubborn as a mule. And Ginny's never been one to exactly forgive and forget." Laughing he went on, "You should have seen Molly when she was pregnant with the twins. I thought that she was going to kill me many times over. So did she."

She smiled back at this. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"It is. I think some of relates to the final year battling Voldemort; she was stuck at Hogwarts doing nothing while you and the boys searched for Horcruxes. I don't think I have to tell you how hard that was for her. Then, after the fighting was done, Harry held her back so that he could deal with his problems, and that hurt. You were her best friend, and in the end, you also pushed her away." He gave a quiet sigh. "Combine that with all of the fuss after you left, and she's been stewing too long in a soup of resentment, jealousy and hurt."

She thought about his answer. It made sense; best of all, it gave her hope that Ginny might someday forgive her. "What happened with the Ministry after I left? Ginny... Ginny said there was an investigation, and Ron got in trouble."

At her question, Arthur rubbed his forehead warily. "The night you left, I told Molly that you needed to leave, and that I was going to help you." He looked at her apologetically. "I know I said I wouldn't tell anyone, but I couldn't kept that kind of secret from her. I didn't tell the children that we knew anything more about your disappearance until almost a year later. The Daily Prophet- well, Rita Skeeter- started to write these long articles about how Ron was 'a person of interest' in your disappearance. The Ministry knew that you were alive- Kingsley was the one who helped get your new documents in order- so they ignored the public furore at first. But... after awhile, they were forced to make a token investigation, or risk being accused of covering something up. Ron was questioned, nothing more." He closed his eyes briefly. "Molly and I made the decision after that to tell the children that we knew you were alive, as well as my role in helping you leave. Ron and Ginny were infuriated; they both felt I should have stopped you, and wanted to know where you were. I refused to tell them. Ron left a couple of months later for America, and Ginny took a posting in Scotland. It took a couple years to get back on good terms with the both of them."

Hermione bit her lip, feeling tears well up. "I'm sorry. I wish... I could have been stronger, handled things better. Or at the very least, not left with more than a few words."

Arthur placed a reassuring hand over Hermione's. "I've told you this before, but it bares repeating: Molly and I don't blame you for what happened. You were a child when you dragged into the mess, and still far too young when it ended. Hermione, you saved the lives of Ron and Ginny, and you did what you had to do to stay sane. We do not begrudge you leaving. Besides which, if Ron can forgive you- which he has- then Ginny will come around too. It'll just take a bit more time."

Silence fell over them once again, and she let the gentle pleasure of the garden and Arthur's presence work a soporific charm upon her. She was roused sometime later by Molly's call; it was supper, and from what sounded like, both George and Percy had joined them.

They both rose from the bench, and for the first time in several months, Hermione felt at peace. Not the cold calm that came from pushing her fears to the dark corners of her mind, but a true serenity that sprang from accepting her fears. She tilted her head up to catch the last rays of the setting sun, and then smiled as she caught Arthur in a similar pose.

"A good kip does wonders, doesn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

"That it does." They started back to the house. "I would like to take you up on your offer of cover with the Kentigernus Institute. And... I'm also going to accept the position at Hogwarts. I don't know if going back there will serve to finally complete a chapter of my life, or be the start of something new, but it's time I dealt with all I left behind."

He looked sincerely pleased with her statement. "Molly will be so happy to hear that you've come to a decision, and so am I."

As they mounted the stairs to the house, Hermione felt the small crystal necklace that Arthur had given her shift on her throat. Touching it, she turned back to Arthur.

"Would you like your necklace back? I keep meaning to ask..."

The man gave her a light kiss on the forehead that felt like a benediction. "No, my dear. It seems to me that you are still yet a traveler, and might need it's protections."

* * *

_**Author's Postscript- **Many notes for this chapter... for those you who don't read French, Snape's comment, ''Je parle français, comme vous le savez bien" would translate to "I speak French, as you well know." The two books referenced, 'Le Rouge et le Noir' and "Les Justes" are worth a read in either language. __'Le Rouge et le Noir' by Stendhal is about the rise and fall of a country-bred young man who is ultimately undone by his passions. 'Les Justes' by Camus is a absolutely wonderful play that explores the moral landscapes of murder, terrorism and spycraft during the Russian Revolution in 1905. Seriously, read it!_  


_Congrats to viola1701e, who wrote the 100th review. I'll similarly reward the person who writes the 150th review, so keep it up!  
_

_So many wonderful comments this week! Thanks to orlando switch, Luna de Papel, KEZZ 1, OnlyAMonster, KG-613, 123hereigo456, VeSiHer, viola1701e, LoveInTheBattleField, Smithback, Athena and a Guest for leaving me tasty little bits of inspiration. The later half of this chapter- Hermione's talk with the Weasleys- came about from punkyredhead's earlier questions about whether or not Ron and Ginny were mad at Arthur for helping Hermione leave.  
_

_Finally, the title from the this chapter is in reference to the song named "Slowness" from the band Calexico. Again, check them out if you haven't. Most excellent music- very atmospheric and great to write to. _


	20. Chapter 19- Flobberworms and Baklava

_**A/N-** __Isn't Poppy the bee's knees? I wish everyone had a Poppy in their lives! _

* * *

_**Chapter 19- Flobberworms and Baklava **_

Snape stepped into the classroom at St. Mungo's, scanning the inhabitants. Most of the Apprentice Healers were already present, even though there was a full ten minutes before the lecture was scheduled to start. Several gave him friendly nods of acknowledgement; he had found teaching the class not to be the chore nor trial he expected. The Healers were far more intelligent than the normal lot of dunderheads he typically taught, and like Brightbrook, none had been former students of his. He found it to be rather pleasant to deal with a group of... well, not precisely youths, but younger adults, and not have the weight of seven years of painful instruction colouring the interactions. Being older, they also possessed a bit of that elusive thing called discretion, and knew to cease asking questions when dealing with sensitive subjects.

Granger and Brightbrook were standing at the front of the classroom. Brightbrook was clearly mid-tale, making a horrible face while miming sticking his hand into something obviously disgusting. At his woeful expression, Granger chuckled, a rich, sympathetic sound that had Brightbrook melting like nothing more than a man-shaped popsicle.

As he cleared the final row of desks, Granger glanced over and saw his oblique approach. The warmth didn't leave her face, although it was tempered by faint unease; she was clearly uncertain as to what his mood might be. Reaching the front table, he gave her slight smile in greeting and she relaxed, relief clear in her eyes.

"Good evening," he said, and the pair returned his greeting.

"Richard was just telling me a story about being a first-year apprentice Healer," Granger informed him, voice bright. "He had to stick his hand in these horrible boxes..."

"Flobberworms, and the like?" Snape asked, amused despite himself.

Brightbrook nodded, grinning. "How did you know?"

"Poppy dragged me down here often as a seventh year. Alas, one of those afternoons featured the blindfolded box test."

Brightbrook continued his tale."Well, unfortunately for me, I am part of the two percent of the population that is highly allergic to flobberworms; a fact I did not discover until several hours later... long after I had managed to touch pretty much every part of my body." His next words were said deadpan. "And I do mean, _every_ part of my body."

Snape winced, letting his some of his amusement show. "And that particular affliction would require the frequent application of fire of wormwood lotion, would it not?"

"Yes," the Healer stated, eyes gleaming. "I'm not sure what was worse, the symptoms or the cure."

They shared a glance of manly comprehension and affinity; Granger stood neatly flanked between the two of them, giggling madly, the earlier worry gone. Looking down at her, he felt a rush of... affection. Her normally cool and collected demeanour was nowhere in evidence. Instead she appeared to be lit from within; her joyful vivacity elevated her appearance from merely lovely to something far more stunning.

He jerked his head up at that thought, and settled his gaze on the Healer. They made quite the pair of opposite bookends; Brightbrook in his bright green robes, hair shining golden versus his own dour black garb and hair. The other man's face, infinitely better arranged than his own, held an expression of one who'd just been unknowingly poleaxed. _Popsicles, _he thought with some reluctant humour. _We are both but popsicles, and I doubt Granger even realizes it. _

The Healer's thoughts had been clearly mirroring his own; when he spoke it was in a voice an octave lower than any of his previous statements. "You look particularly lovely tonight, Hermione."

She pinked at his compliment and Snape felt old, not to mention extraordinarily _de trop_.

"Save the flattery for after hours, Healer Brightbrook," she said, the flush finally subsiding from her cheeks. "Any more of that, and my ego will require a deflating draught." Granger made a gentle sweeping gesture. "Be away with you; my class is about to start."

Brightbrook made a graceful bow. "As the good doctor wishes."

Granger fumbled with her papers for a moment before meeting his eyes. "I'm glad you arrived early, Professor Snape. Would you have time to speak after we finish? I have some... questions."

"Yes, that would be fine. There are some things I would like to discuss with you as well," he replied. _So, she's made her decision then. What will it be?_

"Will the Headmistress be attending tonight?"

"No, she has school business to attend to tonight. The Hogwarts acceptance letters have just gone out, and she's briefing the families of our newest Muggle-born witches and wizards."

"Oh." She shuffled her papers once more, and glanced at the clock. "Well, that might be for the best. Shall we get started?"

* * *

Snape spent the majority of the class furiously trying to decode her enigmatic statement. Did she not want to see Minerva because she planned on declining the post? But if that was the case, why would she want to speak with him after? With a mental sigh of disgust, he focused on his presentation notes.

* * *

After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, they finished their lecture. Naturally, there were several rather swotty students that just simply _had _to question Granger about her portion of the class; he set his face in forbidding enough lines that no one tried to engage him.

She was polite in her answers, and good-naturedly humoured the last several banal questions put forth by a spotty young man. Just as the boy opened his mouth to speak again, Snape sent him a look that had sent better men running for their lives. The boy choked out a hasty farewell and scurried out of the empty classroom. She turned to him and rolled her eyes in exasperation; with that, the bubble of ire that had been growing in him all evening popped.

"Thank you for that. Next time, feel free to step in... oh, about five minutes earlier." _So, there will be a next time..._

"Might I remind you, Doctor Granger, of how many times you have likewise accosted your poor teachers?"

Granger deflected his sarcasm with a self-deprecating shrug. "Have you eaten yet? I had a late lunch, and could do with a bite."

"No, not yet. I tend to keep much later hours in the summer. Food would be appreciated."

She looked up him, gaze opaque. "Do you have a preference of a Muggle establishment or not?" She wrinkled her nose. "Although I suppose we could stay here. The cantina isn't all bad."

"We are not going to the hospital cantina," he said firmly. "I would much prefer somewhere Muggle."

His comment surprised her. "Do you like Greek food? I know of a good place about six blocks away."

"Promise me that it's not named Zorba's, or something equally as cliched, and I am sure it will be more than acceptable." With that, he took out his wand and quickly transformed his robes into something less attention gathering. She watched him with some amusement, and then picked up her bag as he stowed his wand his waistband.

She was still shaking her head slightly as they exited the classroom. "What, Granger?"

"It's just uncanny, that's all."

He sent her an exasperated stare. "What's uncanny?"

"In robes, there is no mistaking you for anything other than a wizard. And yet... you look equally at home in a t-shirt and jeans. It's just uncanny how easily you can slip between the two."

"I was a spy for almost as long as you've been alive. If I couldn't shift registers, so to speak, I would have been dead long before you ever reached Hogwarts."

Her gaze darkened at that. "I know. It's just..."

"Like seeing St. Nick at a gentlemen's club?"

"Precisely." She smiled at his use of her erstwhile rejoinder.

The rest of their walk to the cafe was conducted in silence; by unspoken agreement they postponed any further discussion until after their food arrived.

She cast a furtive _Muffliato _Charm over them as the waitress departed. They both dug into their food, and Snape found that he had much more of an appetite then he'd 'd both eaten more than half their food before he decided that conversation could be attempted. Putting down his fork, he looked at Granger levelly. "How are you feeling?"

She likewise put down her utensil, and he saw the first hint of nerves dance through her expression.

"About Saturday..." she reached for her bag, and pulled out his travel mug.

He held up his hand. "Don't apologize, Granger." Her chin firmed at that, but he went on. "You have apologized once already, and I do not require a second explanation as the first was so clearly sincere." That shut her up, and he almost smiled. "I owe you an apology of my own. Whilst what you said was undeniably rude, it was also unfortunately true. Indeed, I am a glutton for punishment. Poppy had been nagging me not two hours earlier around the same topic; when you hit upon it, I lost my temper. For that, I apologise."

"I..."

He let her flounder for a moment and then allowed his voice to contain the barest hint of sarcasm. "I believe this is where you thank me for the apology, and we move on."

Granger's jaw snapped shut; when she spoke it was with grudging humour. "That last part sounds like something Poppy would say."

"It bloody well should," he grumbled. "The woman has been lecturing me on my manners since I was eleven."

"I'm pleased to see that all of her hard work is finally taking root." That earned her a glare, and she smirked back at him, unrepentant. "Thank you for your apology, Professor Snape." Her smirk transformed into a smile as she said it, and her tone had nothing but the utmost respect and sincerity. However, it was the warmth in her brown eyes that discomforted him the most; Snape found that, much like the Healer, he was not entirely immune to her blandishments.

He took another bite of food, and she followed suite. "You didn't answer my question."

"Hmmm?" she asked, before recalling his prior query. "I'm feeling much better. Still sore..." with a quick murmur she lifted the charm on her face to reveal her black eye. "... and this is turning the most entertaining shades of colours. I've forgotten how fun it can be watch it change."

He looked at the bruise with open admiration as she recast the charm. "That truly is impressive hue of green. Almost a Slytherin green, wouldn't you say?"

"Still a bit bright for that yet, don't you think? More of a... Healer green, I think." Her lips quirked, and he fought the urge to laugh at her quick response.

_Damn, the woman is quick... and not as oblivious as I'd like. I'm really going to have watch myself. _"You said before that you had some questions for me?"

Her mien grew serious. "On Saturday, you brought up the possibility of me becoming your apprentice. I would like to know what it would entail, as well as your conditions."

"How much do you know about apprenticeships?" he asked, taking on the familiar didactic tones of teaching.

"Apprenticeships served as a way to pass down specialized schools of thought, and most lines have rather long genealogies. I know that there there is some sort of binding ceremony involved, and as well as a contract, which last for three to five years leading to a mastery at the end."

"That is correct; the binding was set up in the middle ages to protect both the master and apprentice from harm. It prevents the apprentice from taking work that is not his or hers, and also obligates the master to protect and provide for his or her apprentice."

"What is contained in the contracts?"

"That would depend on individual contract. You would find any contract I put forth none too onerous. I would not require you to present me with fourteen unicorns horns a month for example, nor provide me a half litre of your blood every week for sacrifice."

"The unicorn horns would have been a sticking point."

"I surmised as much given your earlier work on behalf of the house-elves and other non-human magical creatures." His tone was dry.

"You would have conditions, however." She said the last quietly.

"Yes. I would ask that Poppy be our mediator, should we have any major disputes. In terms of work, very little would change; what we are doing now can more than suffice for your mastery. However," he stated, and gave her a firm stare, "...If you thought I was tough when you were a student, you will find me even more demanding as my apprentice. I know how much you are capable of, and will accordingly expect more in return. Is that clear?"

"Very."

"You also would assist me in grading and proctoring, and would be present for the sixth and seventh year potions courses; nominally, you be in the class to help, although in actuality it would serve as more of a refresher course for you. Should I be ill, you might be called upon to cover my courses. Likewise, if something took me away from the Castle, you would temporarily take over my duties as Head of Slytherin House."

"That could prove to be highly entertaining... or not."

He rolled his eyes. "If they haven't killed me in my sleep yet, Granger, they are unlikely to do so to you."

"I know that. They are children, not little monsters."

He tapped the table for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "That they are. Slytherin House is a mess; most of the students are suffering from some sort of serious depression or PTSD; if possible I would appreciate your support in working with them."

"You would have it." Her reply was unequivocal.

"Minerva will have to provide you with the details about your other teaching duties. You would, of course, have quarters in the teachers' wing of the Castle; you've seen what the apprentice suite is like. Should you want more privacy than the section attached to my rooms, it can likely be accommodated."

"And what of... other boundaries?"

He gazed at her steadily. "Those would be framed more as a request. I would still prefer not to discuss the past as much as possible; while that policy does occasionally prove to be problematic, it is also my way coping. I believe you know enough of my history to understand the sentiment?" She nodded.

"I would like us to be friendly, or at least 'civil and polite' as you requested. I will be honest; I do not know if I can mange any more than that, nor am I sure that I would want to. It is nothing personal- at all- but Poppy is the only person I would gladly call a friend, and that is chiefly due to the fact that she has been bandaging me up since I was eleven and has seen me at my worst more times than I care to think about."

Her mouth gave that little quirk again, and he saw both sorrow and humour collide in her eyes. "What?"

"It's only... if that's your idea for the foundation of a friendship, then I'd say we are halfway there." At his raised eyebrow, she went on. "I too have know you since I was eleven, and you've saved my bum from the fire several times over. You've certainly seen me at my worst- such as my regrettable feline phase, and have been responsible for patching up me up on more then one occasion... you were the one who prepared the petrification draught during my second year, for example. If my guess is correct, you also healed me after I was hit by Dolohov's curse."

His response was reluctant. "Yes, that was me. There weren't enough curse-breakers on duty that night at St. Mungo's, so I... assisted."

She watched him for several seconds. "I understand what you are saying, Professor Snape."

"Do you?"

"Yes." A group loud group of students entered the restaurant, interrupting their conversation. Once the din died down, she spoke again. "If I... come back, I will likely be a hot mess, to borrow a phrase from Aditi. I can't guarantee that I will always be pleasant to be around. And then there is the little matter of my continued health problems..."

"Granger, if you can deal with my temper, than surely I can do the same for you. As to the... emotional repercussions of returning," He stopped, trying to find the correct words, "...I spent my first two weeks back at Hogwarts getting completely pissed, and still have my moments. You will find no judgement from me on the score. I would recommend that if you do agree to this that you move to the Castle in August and give yourself some time to settle in before the fall invasion of students."

"And what if my... health issues do increase?"

"Then we will deal with it."

"Alright."

"Do you have any further questions, Granger?"

"Just one... why? There are very clear advantages for me in all of this, but not so much for you." This time, it was she who put up her hand to forestall his comment. "I'm not asking you for all of your reasons, but I am asking for one."

"Would 'Poppy told me to' suffice?"

"No." She picked up her fork and began to eat the rest of her eggplant with relish, content to give him the space to think.

He could almost feel Poppy nudge him; she would urge him to be open about his motives, for once. Granger had been forthcoming in many of their previsions interactions, and should she agree to become his apprentice, he would have to learn to be comfortable in trusting her. _So... how much to say? _

She had finished her plate and was scoping out the dessert rack when he answered her question. "I enjoy working with you." Her head snapped abruptly back to him, and he smirked at how quickly that had gotten her attention. "You have matured greatly beyond the pedantic know-it-all that entered my classroom some fifteen-odd years ago. You spoke to me several weeks ago about how important your work was to you, and how very few people understood it's importance." He let his sardonic mask slip a bit. "I am the only potions master in Europe under the age of one hundred; accordingly, there are very few people who understand or truly appropriate what I do. I would like very much to have someone to work with, and I think that you could be that person."

Her emotions had effectively been hidden after his initial statement, but he saw her posture relax minutely as he continued his explanation. When he finished, she nodded and asked, "Would you find me terribly rude if I took some time to think over what you said?"

"Not at all."

She pointed to the sweets. "Would you care for anything else?"

"A cup of coffee. Black."

She got up and walked to the counter, and entered in a brief discussion with waitress. When she came back, it was with the coffee he had requested and large piece of honey-smeared baklava.

"Would you like some?" she offered.

He shook his head. "You have a sweet-tooth?"

"Always have, much to my parents' disgust."

"They were dentists, were they not?"

Her smile was bittersweet. "Yes, they were, and rather strict about permitting me treats like this. They always made be brush immediately after eating something with this much sugar."

Granger ate the dessert with care, not bothering to hide her pleasure. She pushed her plate away at last, and stared at him over the table solemnly.

"I would be very much honoured to be you apprentice, Professor Snape."

He spoke his next words with care. "I would prefer that you use my Christian name in private." He extended his hand across the table to her.

"Very well, Severus," she said, slender hand meeting his, and they shook on it.

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **Welcome, and thanks to all of the new folks who have followed and favourited over the last two days! Ditto, you wonderful people who leave me comments- they are like gold to greedy dragon's heart._

_The flobberworms-in-a-box scenario is based upon something I had to do whilst was taking a paramedics course. Rather than flobberworms, of course, it was more mundane things like spaghetti noodles and raw eggs, or peeled grapes in custard. Uggg. I am not a squeamish person by any stretch of the imagination, but it's amazing what happens to the contents of your stomach when you can't see what you placing your hands in._

_As promised last week, here is the full list of references made in chapter titles-_

_Prologue- A Victory March- line from 'Hallelujah', Cohen/Buckley _

_Ch. 1- Of Sharks and Men- play on Steinbeck's novel, 'Of Mice and Men' detailing the wandering of two men in the aftermath of the Great Depression. _

_Ch. 2- 'All that you can't leave behind', U2_

_Ch. 3- A Minor Fall and Major Lift- line from 'Hallelujah', Cohen/Buckley _

_Ch. 4- 'Hungry Heart', Bruce Springsteen _

_Ch. 5- The Baffled King- line from 'Hallelujah', Cohen/Buckley _

_Ch. 6- Castles Gone to the Constant Sea- line from "Long Way Off", Gungor_

_Ch. 7- 'Sleeping to Dream', Jason Mraz_

_Ch. 8- Excrement and Oscillators- reference to the 1980 movie, 'Airplane' _

_Ch. 10- 'Help Yourself', Amy Winehouse_

_Ch. 11- 'Dark Don't Hide It', Jason Molina_

_Ch. 12- Waiting to Exhale- line from 'Shoop, Shoop (Waiting to Exhale)', Whitney Houston_

_Ch. 15- 'Cast No Shadow', Oasis _

_Ch. 16- 'Another Brick in the Wall'- Pink Floyd_

_Ch. 17- 'No Limits on the Words', Songs: Ohia/Jason Molina_

_Ch. 18- 'Slowness'- Calexico _


	21. Chapter 20- Shelter

_**A/N- **Ohhh, I've been so excited to post this chapter! Thanks to the ever faithful folks who commented last week- lunarose87, Smithback, KEZZ 1, viola1701e, Luna de Papel, LoveInTheBattleField, VeSiHer, punkyredhead, and orlando switch. My thanks to my beta, Muggle Jane._

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_**Chapter 20- Shelter**_

Hermione wasn't sure what urge was strongest; the desire to burst into a hysterical fit of giggles, or the dire need to vomit all over her brand new, sherry-coloured dress robes. As either option appealed about as much as cuddling a raging Blast-Ended Skrewt, however, she strove to push all of her nerves far enough back that she wouldn't come across as the village idiot during the forthcoming binding ceremony. She must have been faking it sufficiently, because Arthur and Molly paid her scant attention, and instead looked about the remodelled Hogwarts halls with mild interest.

Matters had moved quickly after her impromptu dinner with Professor Snape; the following afternoon she had sat down with him as well as the Headmistress to iron out the exact details of her contract. As he had promised, it had been rather uncomplicated. It had spelled out her duties, hours and expectations as an apprentice, as well as his. The contract was for an initial three years, with re-agreement due every year after that. Minerva- for she had also requested that Hermione use her given name- had also produced a teaching contract for Hogwarts that had been equally as straightforward. She would be teaching three sections of Muggle science, in addition to the two upper level classes with Professor Snape; she was required to assist with evening rounds every eleventh day, and serve as chaperon on Hogsmeade weekends at six week intervals. She was not, blessed be, expected to attend any school events- meals or otherwise- in the Great Hall until such time that she felt ready to do so.

Minerva had expressed her great happiness in having her join the staff, although the faint shadows in the woman's eyes had told Hermione that it was not without some reservations. Upon parting, she had given Hermione a leather-bound book that detailed the ritual of the binding ceremony, as well as historical background to the entire practice. Thanks to her careful reading of the slim volume and a through questioning of Arthur, she felt comfortable with physical procedures of the rite; she could only wish to face the rest of it with a similar equanimity.

She felt dazed at the speed at which everything else had fallen into place; she had given notice at the University, and was in the process of packing up her flat in Aberystwyth so she could be out by the first of August. Now, a bare two weeks after being offered an apprenticeship, she was to bind herself to one Severus Tobias Snape, Potions Master, for the next three years. At that unreal thought, she hastily choked off a giggle. But she must have made some sort of sound, because Arthur turned around to glance at her in concern. Before she could do more than stare back, a heavy wooden door etched with a multitude of runes opened, and Minerva gestured them in.

Hermione stood stock-still in shock upon entering the room. Really, a calling it a mere 'room' was a grave misnomer. It was a proper chapel, and a breathtaking one at that. Borrowing heavily from the original gothic tradition of the Castle, it had a rectangular nave and high, arching ceilings supported by exposed columns ending above in a delicate pattern resembling a fan. The clerestory windows were made out of large panels of crystalline glass, while the windows at eye level were made from more delicately worked stained glass. On the left side of the room, the window designs revealed themselves to be the crests and colours of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, and to the right that of Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The central window at the end of the room featured the Hogwarts heraldry encircled by the livery of the different houses.

With the rich, warm and highly hued sunlight pouring through the various windows, the air seem to spark with promise. Taking a deep breath in, she felt her fears dissipate as the magic of the space wrapped her in a reassuring embrace. Hermione stepped forward, and focused on the people in the room rather than just the beauty around her.

At the head of the space stood Minerva and Flitwick, with the former holding several sheets of heavy vellum in her hands. The vellum appeared to be the contracts, and the Headmistress was giving them a final once-over while Flitwick stood gazing absent-mindedly at the main window. As Hermione looked up to the window that he was watching, she realized that the stained glass was enchanted, and the patterns and shapes were shifting; their slow motion made her feel as though she was standing in the middle of a giant kaleidoscope.

Under the Slytherin window stood Poppy and Professor Snape, whom he was having a quiet but very intense discussion with. She wasn't arguing directly with him, but there was a subtle look of distress on her face at his words. Before Hermione could give their conversation much consideration, the Headmistress called her up to the front of the nave.

"Hermione, please examine the contract a final time before we begin." Minerva handed them to her, and she began to check them. As she read the clauses, she could hear the discrete whispers from the others in the nave, and gave the pair under the Slytherin window a side-long glance. _What are they arguing about... he hasn't changed his mind, has he?_

"They are as agreed, Headmistress," Hermione said quietly. Minerva gave her a sharp nod, and then spoke loudly enough to get the attention of Professor Snape and Poppy.

"Unless there are any further issues, shall we get started?"

"I do have one problem, Minerva..." Professor Snape started to say, before the Headmistress interrupted.

"Severus, you wouldn't be backing out now, would you?" Minerva's voice was impatient, and held an edge of incredulity.

"No." His retort was unequivocal, and Hermione felt a rush of relief at his ready answer. "It has not to do with the contract, but rather an aspect of the ceremony. I have been forced to bow down for far too many people; I'll not have Hermione do the same for me." He turned and addressed her directly. "You will have no complaints with my support and guidance, nor will I shirk any my of obligations to you, but I won't have you take a knee, nor will I be your master in that fashion. Do you understand what I am saying, Hermione?"

She was stunned by his words, and they appeared to have caught the others in the room likewise off-guard. The binding ceremony was fairly simple, as well as routine: she was to lay her wand at his feet and kneel, demonstrating her obedience and fealty. They would recite the oath of apprenticeship, and he would give her back her wand as an act of munificence. Finally, they would both sign the contracts, and they would be bound as master and apprentice. The submissive nature of the rite hadn't bothered Hermione all that much; she had accepted as just another example of archaic workings of living in the magical world.

"You went through this same ceremony yourself, Severus. It's not as if this isn't a common-place ritual; taking a knee is rather insignificant in this case." Minerva sounded slightly confused at his protest.

"Tell me, Minerva- would you bow to me right now, in this room? No contract, nothing on the line, just a quick a bend of a knee?" Professor Snape wasn't quite... angry, but whatever emotions he had on the topic were strong ones.

The Headmistress stood rendered mute at his question, but the look on her face said quite clearly that even a faux act of submission would make her uncomfortable.

"It is no little act, you must admit." His tone was once again firm, and his gaze slid from the Headmistress's face to hers.

"I am not being forced to kneel, Professor." She bit her lip, wondering if any words from her would reassure him. "I trust you in this."

"Hermione," and he paused, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing. "This isn't a matter of trust." His regard was all consuming when he looked back to her, and she caught a beseeching plea in his stare. She thought about his objection, and the various ways that must have had to humble himself over the years. To Voldemort, certainly, but also to Dumbledore... she remembered the feeling of being forced to kneel in the Great Hall as the Death Eaters tortured her and three students... and she had an inkling as to why he considered it no little or insignificant act, and why he wanted no one to bow before him.

"I understand," she whispered.

"Severus, how are we to complete the binding if you won't perform the ritual?" Minerva still seemed befuddled by his response, and the space was suddenly filled with an awkward silence.

Hermione cast her eyes about the room, looking for inspiration. Her gaze fell upon one of the stained glass windows, done in the bright yellow and brown heraldry of Hufflepuff. Words formed, and the centre picture changed from the badger to a pair of linked hands. _AMICITIA AEQUALITAS _it read; _friendship is equality._

"Could we hold hands instead?" she blurted, and immediately flushed, feeling stupid.

It was Poppy that gathered her wits first. "It is the intent that matters the most, not the actual physical motions. Linking hands should serve just fine."

"That would be acceptable substitution to me," Professor Snape said, and Hermione fancied that she caught a hint of relief in his expression.

"Very well." Minerva spoke crisply. "Come here," she went on, and waved to a spot in front of her, spreading the contract onto the long table next to her.

Both she and Professor Snape walked forward; as she reached the spot indicated, she looked down at her wand.

"What should I do with this?" she asked, holding it out.

"If we are really going to meddle with the ceremony, we might as well change it all the way," he said. "Why don't we both put our wands on top of the the contract, and after the oath taking, you can hand me mine, and I will do the same." He gave her a faint, if sardonic smile. "Amictia aequalitas, no?"

She felt a milder iteration of her earlier blush spread across her face; he must have seen the Hufflepuff window and had figured out her inspiration. "That's fine by me."

Minerva was checking the scroll with the oath on it a last time when he leaned down and spoke to her in an low undertone. "You should have seen what the Slytherin window was suggesting..."

"Shall we begin?" Minerva said, looking at the two of them with some asperity. "Well? You both had the bright idea to change the ceremony, so make your adjustments now."

Hermione stared up at Professor Snape, non-plussed. _Right. So we decided to hold hands... but how? _

Placing his wand on top of the contract, Professor Snape extended both his hands out her, palms up. Setting her wand next to his, she clasped his hands and they stood facing each other. Their position was a familiar one, but harkened to different type of binding ceremony. _Mawwage... _she mentally heard in the wobbly voice of the Impressive Clergyman from the Princess Bride, _Mawwage is what bwings us togeva today..._

His mouth quirked in perceptive humour, easily reading her thoughts. As one, they looked towards Minerva, and she couldn't help the smile that blossomed over her face.

"Let us begin," the Headmistress spoke in formal tones. "We are here today to witness the binding and contract..."

As she held Professor Snape's hands within her own, Hermione became aware of several things all at once. First, while he had regained his equilibrium, his earlier strong emotions were still present; she could feel the barely checked tension radiating out through his long fingers, and she was struck with a sudden urge to comfort him. Without pausing to think about her actions, she gave his hands a gentle squeeze. He took a measured breath, and then his hands returned the pressure, gaze warming on hers.

As she took the sensation in, she realized that he wasn't wearing his customary black robes. Instead, he wore robes of a deep, cerulean blue. Perhaps it was the colour of his robes, or maybe the sunlight streaming over them... or just the fact that they were standing so very close, but she saw with some amazement that his eyes were not black, as she had always thought, but a dark, chocolatey brown. _Oh my..._

"Who represents the institution of Hogwarts?" she heard Minerva ask.

"I, Filius Flitwick, Holder of a Mastery in Charms, Head of Ravenclaw House and Deputy Headmaster, do."

"Who represents the Ministry of Magic?"

"I, Arthur Weasley, Ministry employee and Head of the Office of Muggle Relations, do."

"Who represents Severus Tobias Snape, and pledges to fulfil this contract in his stead if he is unable to do so?"

"I, Poppy Pomfrey, Holder of a Mastery in Healing, Matron of Hogwarts and friend to Severus, do"

"Who represents Hermione Jean Granger, and affirms that she has entered into this contract in good faith and with competent ability?"

"I, Molly Weasley, Order of Merlin, Second Class, and friend to Hermione, do."

As they recited their name and titles, each person stepped forward and surrounded them in a semi-circle, with Minerva at the apex. Flitwick and Poppy stood to the right of Professor Snape, and Arthur and Molly alongside her. She could feel the beginnings of magic stirring in the air around them; a frisson of nerves danced up her spine as her fears and doubts loomed large. This time, it was Professor Snape's hands that squeezed and sent her the calm needed to concentrate on the Headmistress' next words.

"Severus Tobias Snape, before you..." Minerva paused in her recitation, and substituted the next word. "...stands Hermione Jean Granger, who seeks to become your apprentice. Do you wish to present her with a contract of indenture?"

"I do, and have."

"Do you pledge to share your knowledge, guide her in the ways and methods of potions, provide for her from your hearth and offer her your protection for a period of three years?"

"I do so swear."

"Hermione Jean Granger, you stand before Severus Tobias Snape, and have petitioned him to serve as your Master in the area of Potions. Will you agree to the indenture and terms he has stipulated?"

"I do agree."

"And do you swear your obedience and complete fealty to him, and promise to keep good faith in all work and practice?"

"I do so swear."

The magic around them had strengthened to form an ever tightening circle, and Hermione fought against the pressure that was threatening to nudge her closer to Professor Snape. She met his eyes again, and saw that he was fighting the same compulsion; she could also see that he was just as uncertain as she was. Looking down at their intertwined hands, she realized that they were both gripping each other hard enough that their fingers had gone white from the lack of circulation.

"Having heard and witnessed their solemn oaths, do any here object to the creation of this apprenticeship?"

None of the others moved, and Minerva waited a full half minute before speaking again. "Then as Headmistress of Hogwarts, and a Holder of a Mastery in Transfiguration, I declare this contract to be valid and binding."

There was a split second of utter quiet, and then the magic around them exploded into a burst of colours. Hermione had the sensation of being the middle of a whirlpool of emotions, and something almost like memories; it was all she could do to stay upright under the pounding of that much sentiment. Slowly, the magic coalesced and separated, and she became conscious of a shock mirroring her own, of fears and curiosity, possibilities and doubt... and a bone-deep, bitter, loneliness. It was the last emotion that made her realize that not all of what she was feeling came from her own thoughts.

Her vision cleared somewhat, and the dark brown eyes of Severus Snape came into view once more. She recognized that second mental presence as his; whilst he wasn't in her mind, nor she in his, they were quite clearly sharing in each others' emotions. She felt him jerk, physically and mentally, as he came to the same conclusions as she had. Hermione was abruptly aware of being pressed into the long, lean line of his body, of her left and his right hand still clasped together and being crushed between them. Her other hand was clutching at the front of his dress robes for stability, and he was gripping her upper arm hard enough that she knew there'd be bruises. At her wince, his hand loosened, but did not let go; they were staring at each other in astonishment. Swimming in the pool of their shared feelings, she tasted that horrible sensation of loneliness again.

Reaching out, she offered what comfort, what acceptance she could in the face of his pain. _It will be alright, _she thought fiercely. _There are the two of us now. _ His sudden spurt of feelings momentarily overwhelmed her own, and she was awash in a such a flood that she could not identify nor categorize his response to her avowal. Then the obscuring shields of his Occlumency came up, buffering her, and in what remained, she recognized three clear feelings from him: gratitude, wariness and longing.

Softly, she heard his hesitant voice in her head. _Yes, I suppose that is true. _

As she stood looking up at him, she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh, cry... or reach up and kiss him. His shields had muted the link between them sufficiently, preventing from knowing his exact thoughts on the matter. If the downward tilt of his chin was any indication however, he felt the same rush of attraction that she did.

His body stilled, and she saw a flash of regret in his eyes. Slowly, his hand loosen upon hers, and without breaking their gaze, he reached down and plucked her wand off the table. Stepping back, he gave her a formal, deep bow before proffering her wand. She took it, carefully picked up his wand, and repeated his motions. As she handed the ebony rod to him, she felt their... connection, or whatever it had been, snap, and she was again alone in her own thoughts and feelings.

A sudden whoosh had them both swivelling in the direction of Arthur and Molly; a silvery stag had appeared, and she heard Harry's voice.

"Ginny's gone into labour. So far everything is fine, but she's progressing quickly. Come as soon as you can."

Minerva's voice issued from behind them, sounding strangely grim. "You'll need to sign the contracts before Arthur and Molly can leave. Quickly, now." Handing them both quills, she pointed to the vellum sheets. "There are copies for the two of you, for the school, and one for Ministry."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Severus sign his name on the first copy, the spidery, narrow script intimately familiar to her. His face had gone completely white, she noted. Looking down at her own trembling hand, she knew that she had to be beet-red from her own suppressed emotions. _What on earth happened? That was not... that was not how the book described the ceremony!_

With another brusque wave, Minerva summoned several more quills and handed them to the Weasleys, who bent over the contracts. Signing the fourth copy, Hermione finally looked up from the table into the faces of the others. Flitwick wore genial, blank expression, but Hermione saw the covert speculation in his gaze. Poppy was notably lacking her usual serenity, but otherwise appeared calm. Minerva's continence, on the other hand, did not invite any questions, and Arthur and Molly were distinctly worried about Ginny.

Watching the flow of people past the table, she noticed that no one was meeting anyone else's stare. _So, _she thought to herself, _Clearly, that little burst of magic wasn't normal. And it's either serious enough, or strange enough that no one wants to discuss it. Instead, we will follow in the proper and time-honoured English tradition of pretending that nothing out of the ordinary has happened. _A bubble of frustration welled up at the thought. _No, I think not. Something happened, and I will not simply ignore it. _

She swung her gaze to Severus, who had regained most of his colour, she was relieved to see. He stared back at her for a moment, and then gave her a faint shake of his head; _Later, _his expression clearly said. _We will talk about this later. _Subsiding reluctantly, she turned back to the wall of enchanted stained glass, and began examining the panes for clues.

* * *

Snape watched as Molly murmured something to Arthur. Patting her shoulder comfortingly, he shooed her towards the door. "Go, Molly. I'll be right behind you," he said. As she turned to leave, Molly Weasley shot him an incomprehensible look. _You and I both, _he thought with no little confusion. _That certainly wasn't what happened when I took my apprenticeship oath. _

The welter of emotions that thought dredged up was enough to make him draw on the cold blankness of his Occlumency until he no longer felt like a gibbering pillock. It was with an easy dispassion that he acknowledged Arthur as the man approached him.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Arthur said. "Will you walk with me?"

"As you wish," he responded, and they made their way to the exit. Arthur held the door for him, but did not move forward as the heavy rune covered door shut behind them with a sigh.

The man opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, clearly flummoxed. He stared at Snape for a moment, and then finally thrust his hand into his robes and withdraw a small, velvet bag.

Extending it, Arthur asked, "Do you know what this is?"

"I believe so."

"I think... I think that it's best that you keep this for a little while. Perhaps it will help you understand your apprentice a little better."

Snape hesitated; the charm used on the necklace was a limited variant of Legilimency, and he wasn't keen on having the item in his possession without Granger's explicit permission. On other hand, all he had to was accept the bloody thing and shove it into a drawer; it wasn't as if he had moon over it constantly. And if Granger did start having problems... He took the small bag with a solemn nod, and carefully stowed it in his pocket. "Is there anything else you would like to speak about?"

"Yes, actually." Arthur rubbed his forehead in a familiar gesture. "If something starts to go wrong, if... Ginny has issues, would you be willing to come to St. Mungo's and consult with Brightbrook?"

His question came as complete shock, and Snape said the first thing that popped into his thoughts. "I'm no Healer, Arthur." Seeing the quick flare of disappointment on the older man's face, he realized that he had inadvertently insulted him. Regrouping, he spoke again. "My answer isn't no; you just caught me by surprise. If you believe that I might be able to provide some sort of assistance, then I would be willing to oblige you."

Arthur relaxed. "Thank you. Both Molly and I wanted to ask you, given that it was your potions that were able to stop the seizures the last time."

"George has my number, or you can send your Patronus."

"Right." Arthur gave him a distracted, if sincere smile. "I'm off, then. Thank you again"

"Not a problem. I hope you have no need of me."

That earned him a dry laugh. "Likewise." With that, the man turned and hurried down the hallway.


	22. Chapter 21- Beast of Burden

_**Chapter 21- Beast of Burden**_

She was peering at the Slytherin window when Severus' voice sounded from behind her.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" His expression was scrupulously empty, but his tone wasn't... unfriendly.

"I was hoping to move my things over from Aberystwyth. I also have some furniture that needs to go back to my parents' house in London."

"Do you still wish to do so?"

"Yes." She offered him a wry smile. "I need something to do, or I'll lose the plot completely."

"That would be rather unfortunate, given the contract you just signed." Glancing around, he nodded towards the Headmistress. "Let us tell Minerva; she can modify the wards to allow us to Apparate your items here. If all goes well, we should be able to get your other things to London as well."

"Alright." She had assumed that it would be the house-elves helping her transport her things, and was a little startled at his apparent equanimity in assisting her with such a mundane task. Still, she wasn't going to argue, especially as she fully intended on grilling him on the events of the previous fifteen minutes.

They walked over to the Headmistress, who was putting her final signature on the contracts. "Will you be moving in today?" Minerva asked, manner still on the wrong side of curt.

"Yes, I had hoped so." Hermione answered, surprised at the Headmistress' mood.

"And do you recall how to shift the wards?" Minerva stared down the bridge of her nose at Severus as she issued the question, even though the wizard was a good head taller than she was. Hermione wondered if she'd ever be able to replicate that formidable glare; it would come in handy during the forthcoming school year, especially given her own short stature and non-threatening appearance.

"Yes, I do." Severus told her.

"Then I shall let you handle the details as you see fit." She handed them the completed contracts, and her expression briefly thawed. "I congratulate you both." With that, she swept away in rustle of tartan and temper.

"I find myself delighted to not be the only one who was discomfited." Hermione mused, belatedly realizing that they were the only two left in the room.

"You weren't, I assure you," he said dryly.

"Yes, I do seem to recall something along those lines..." she teased, relieved that he had retained his sense of humour despite the preceding events.

His mouth turned up at that, and he gave an inelegant snort. "There is no end to your cheek, is there?"

"Well, it certainly helps that I know you are now magically prohibited from doing me serious bodily harm."

"Why would I resort to such a crude method to make a point when I have bucketfuls of horned slugs that need to be dissected? As my apprentice, it is only logical that you assist me by preparing ingredients."

It was her turn to snigger. Changing her mien from sardonic to wide-eyed innocence, she went on. "Sounds like the upcoming detentions for all those new first-years will be brutal."

"First-years clean cauldrons by hand, Granger. Second-years and above are tasked with with the dissection of ingredients. Don't stress yourself too badly trying to remember."

There was no venom in either his voice or gaze, just a lazy amusement that she had never seen from him before. _Oh, my... _she thought for a second time that morning.

Thinking of the ceremony, she asked softly, "What just happened?"

"I don't know." He looked down at his copy of their contract, and then back up at her, humour gone. "If I had to wager a guess, I would say that it was a combination of circumstances. We did meddle with the ceremony quite a bit; my apprenticeship binding was nothing like that. I don't think that we did anything... unwanted, or irreparable, but it was rather different. I also think that Hogwarts also added it's own... stamp to the proceedings, hence all of the pretty colours. More than that..." He paused, shaking his head ruefully. "Do you have any ideas?"

She blinked at him, surprised that he had bothered to ask her opinion. "Beyond yours? No. Minerva gave me book on the ceremony, but I don't recall it mentioning anything like what happened. I'm sure that I can find something in the library..." she said, trailing off as she thought about possible avenues of research.

"Tell me, Granger... has there ever been a problematic situation when your first thought hasn't been 'must go to the library'?"

"No, none that come to mind. It's all a matter finding the correct book." She smiled up at him smugly.

"Well, if you want any time to poke about the dusty tomes today, then we better get to moving your things, shouldn't we?" he drawled, moving forward. "Why don't we meet back at your flat in an hour?"

She nodded at him. "The living room is mostly packed up, so if you want to Apparate directly, aim for the front of the staircase."

"Very well. Shall we?" Holding the door open for her, they started down the hallway together.

* * *

He was pleasantly surprised to find that Poppy wasn't lurking about in his rooms; still, it wasn't as if the Healer would need to go far in order to locate and interrogate him. Snape knew that there would be many eventual questions from that particular quarter, and was grateful that she'd at least had the kindness to wait until he'd had time to composed himself and ponder the situation.

_Bloody Fucking Nora, what did we do? _

He sat down on the first chair he stumbled across, allowing himself a moment to sprawl against the kitchen table and indulge his flailing thoughts.

It hadn't been until he'd been dressing that morning that he had given any thought to the details of the apprenticeship ceremony. All cognitive function had accordingly frozen, then utterly rebelled at the notion of Granger submitting herself to him. Later, he had only been able to articulate a half-arsed explanation to Poppy in the Chamber of Binding; when Granger had lit upon the idea of holding hands, of _amictia aequalitas _and all that entailed_,_ his hindbrain had finally caught up to his more rational thoughts, and it had dawned on him why that specific aspect of the ceremony had been so abhorrent to him.

_It will be alright._ _There are the two of us now. _Granger's voice rippled through in his head... _Hermione, _he thought to himself ruefully. _You might as well get used to calling her Hermione, if only in your thoughts. It's not as if your previous attempts to keep her at a distance have been successful. _Truly, that vow of hers had been what had thrown him for a curve. It hadn't been the fact she'd somehow understood a good deal of his reluctance at the start of the ceremony, or that they'd so blindingly, obviously, changed their attempt at an apprenticeship binding into something so much more...

No, it had been her pledge that had shifted matters so irrevocably for him. There had not been a trace of pity in her thoughts, nor had there been the expected and altogether Gryffindor compulsion to 'fix' him. Amidst the roiling abyss of his feelings, she had surrounded him with acceptance and offered fellowship. Moreover, inherent in her thoughts had been the information that she just wasn't presenting herself up to him, one-sided, but that she likewise found him to be a source of safety... and of comfort.

Forty-six years, and nobody had ever considered him a source a comfort.

_I do believe this would fit the definition of being hoisted with one's own petard..._

* * *

Severus was late. She'd lost track of the time packing up the last of her bedroom, and it wasn't until she received a text from George that she saw that it was almost a half an hour past their agreed upon time. Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she should text him to find out if everything was alright, and then vainly tried to dismiss worry fermenting within her. _Just because he's never been late in your entire acquaintance doesn't mean something is wrong. Honestly, stop being such a ninny! _

She spent the next ten minutes dithering between outright concern and a grumpy frustration. As much as he had mellowed and accepted her presence, and indeed, even her impertinence, she knew without a doubt that he'd not tolerate her fussing or quizzing him on his whereabouts like she had Ron or Harry. Besides, it wasn't as if he wasn't perfectly capable of looking after himself...

She had just started down the stairs when he Apparated neatly at their base. He no longer wore his formal robes, but instead a pair of battered track pants and a green t-shirt; his expression had reverted into an incommunicative mask.

"Oh, there you are," Hermione said, mentally cursing herself at the readily apparent relief in her statement. _Oh, well done... that was smooth._

"My apologies. The wards took quite a bit more finessing than I had estimated. Minerva neglected to mention that she had reinforced then in some rather complicated ways."

"Yes, I do believe that we annoyed her today."

"You think? Minerva may lack Albus' more Machiavellian tendencies, but she is just as much of a control freak as he was."

She started down the stairs, contemplating his response. "Have you eaten? Aditi brought some curry by last night. It's spicy, but wonderful."

"If you have enough to share, then yes, I'll gladly eat." He moved out of her way, and followed her into the kitchen.

Putting out a pot, she lit the hob and started to pull food from the fridge. "I thought changing the wards of Hogwarts was strictly a prerogative of the Headmistress or Headmaster."

"It is." He gave her arch look. "As you noted months ago, I neither resigned nor was sacked."

She raised an eyebrow at him in return. "If she is such a control freak, then why have you retained your privileges as Headmaster?"

"You would have to raise that question with her. I am sure she has some nefarious plan behind it all, but I've not bothered to inquire." Severus' airy tone was dismissive, but given his natural state of suspicion she had a feeling he already knew the answer to the mystery and just didn't want to discuss it.

The kitchen went silent except for the sounds of her stirring the curry, and she jumped when he spoke again. "Hermione, why do you think that I did not want you to bow to me?"

She stopped stirring and turned fully to look at him. He was lounging against the archway, but the causal lines of his body language were contradicted by the odd light in his eyes.

"I would think that your primary reason is because you yourself have been forced to kneel and call so many people 'master'. I can understand that much, at least." She took a deep breath. "When Martson Mortaine and the remaining Death Eaters took over the school... they made me kneel, forced me beg for the lives of several students. Made me ask for a lot of things, as a matter of fact." Faces, horrible screams, swam up from the depths of her memory, momentarily assaulting her. She took another deep breath, and the spicy smell of the curry recalled her to the kitchen. "I don't ever want to be made the vulnerable again, and I would guess that you don't either."

He nodded slowly, and she went on. "Despite your reputation as a Dark Wizard, I don't think that you want that sort of power or control over anyone."

"I don't. Ever." His baritone was raspy as he said it. "But there is another factor as well. I have never had the luxury of a relationship that wasn't based on an imbalance of power, one way or another." Pausing for a long second, he began to count off names with his graceful fingers. "Lily. Lucius. Dumbledore and Voldemort. Draco... even Poppy." He glanced down abruptly, and his hair covered his expression.

"Ironic that I ask this of my apprentice... but for once in my life, I would like a relationship that is based on equality and respect, not on debts owed and obligations." His gaze met hers again, and what she saw knocked her nearly breathless. "I don't know if I am capable of such a thing..." His short laugh was bitter. "Let me rephrase that. I know that I will cock things up eventually, but hopefully, it will not be permanently. I just... I just want you to understand my thoughts on the matter."

Hermione could feel the hand holding the wooden spoon tremble, and reaching down, she shakily switched off the hob. He had had just humbled himself more thoroughly to her than any amount of physical prostrations ever would, and the only thing that she think to do was match his painful honesty with her own.

"I have been afraid for so long that I don't know how to stop. This..." she gestured with the spoon, "...coming back, the apprenticeship... all of this, absolutely terrifies me."

"I rather picked up on that." His response was wry, but gentle.

"Now who's being cheeky?" she asked, smiling despite everything. "But I meant what I said, Severus. We are not alone in this, either of us. I think that if I can restrain my more foolhardy and nosy Gryffindor tenancies, and you can manage to view the world a little less through the lenses of Slytherin suspicion and mistrust, we will do just fine together. And... and if not, that's what Poppy is for, correct?"

"So you a little less of a lioness, and me less of a snake? That would render us into what... Hufflepuffs?" His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"_Amictia aequalitas._" She spoke the phrase softly, formally. "Friendship isn't a bad way to start things off, is it?"

"No. It is not."

* * *

The meal was eaten in silence, which was surprisingly comfortable. Finishing at last, she briefed him on what needed to be moved where, and they had made for the living room to begin sorting boxes. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes when a knock at the door interrupted them.

The door opened with a grudging creak, and Aditi's head poked through. "Hermione? I've come to see if you wanted to borrow my luscious piece of man meat to help lift all your boxes."

She heard Severus muffle a laugh with a cough, and felt two twin spots of colour bloom on her cheeks. "I've my own, thanks."

Aditi shut the door behind her, and waggled her eyebrows suggestively at the two of them. "Yes, indeed, I can see that..."

A quick glance towards Severus revealed that she wasn't the only one sporting a blush, and she could all but see the wheels spinning in the other woman's mind. "Aditi..." she intoned warningly.

"Oh, really, Hermione... don't get your knickers all into a twist. I know better than to tease," Aditi responded with a theatrical sigh.

"Since when?" Hermione shot back.

Aditi adjusted her _dupatta_ more decorously around her shoulders. "As I am to become a mother, it behooves me to act in a more adult and proper manner."

"When pigs fly."

Her friend sent her a playful glare, and then advanced into the living room. "Right then, what still needs to be done? Rhys has prohibited me from lifting, but I can help pack or clean."

_Well, this complicates things. Still, Aditi's timing could have been worse. Five minutes later and we would have been in the middle of magically shrinking the boxes... _it occurred then to Hermione that their wands were laying in full view of her friend, and she glanced around in mild panic. _I really, really, don't want to Obliviate my best friend! _Hers was not longer on the sofa, and she couldn't see his, which had been lying on top of the pile of boxes he had been stacking. Giving the room one more desperate look, she found both of their wands sitting on her desk by the window. _How did he manage that?_

"Ahhh," she finally answered. "...we were sorting things into piles. Most of it is going to Scotland, but some of it needs to go back to my parents' place in London."

Aditi looked around the living room. "Do you have everything packed upstairs?"

"Yes, I finished most of it last night. What's left to do is what you can see here, as well as the kitchen." She paused, thinking. "Why don't you help me with these bookcases?"

As Aditi grabbed a box, she saw a mixture of resigned amusement and a smirk cross Severus' face before he spoke. "Which leaves myself, as the titular 'luscious piece of man meat' to carry said boxes from upstairs, does it not?"

Her blush had just started to fade, but with his comment, Hermione was completely positive that there wasn't anywhere on her entire body that wasn't burning a bright red. She buried her face in her hands, groaning. "It figures that the two of you would delight in trying to mortify me."

"When it's so easy to accomplish, yes," he said smoothly, clearly enjoying himself.

"Come on then, I'll show you what needs to be brought down..." She started up the stairs, and she could feel his warmth at her back as he followed a mere half-step behind. Shooting him a quizzical glance as they climbed, she watched as his evil smirk deepen; then he began to whistle the familiar notes to 'Beast of Burden'. By the time they reached her bedroom, she was laughing so hard that she had to clutch at the door frame for support.

Finally catching her breath, she poked him in the chest. "Now you're just being deliberately being unfair."

The smirk hadn't abated any. "Fairness was not on the list of qualities that you requested that I work on. I believe that you specified 'suspicion and mistrust'." The lazy humour had returned to his eyes, and their very intensity made her gut clinch with sudden desire._I've walked for miles my feet are hurting, _she heard the Rolling Stones song play in her head..._ All I want is for you to make love to me..._

A whisper of a thought occurred to her as she stared into his chocolate-hued eyes. "What did the Slytherin window say, Severus?" Her voice was husky, and caught on his name.

Something, some unknown emotion, flickered through his expression so quickly that she only had a chance to register its presence before it was gone. "Only you would ask about that at time like this..." He shook his a touch ruefully. "Ask me that question again in twenty years, and I might tell you. Now, show me the boxes, Granger." She nearly shivered at the silky tone, and with effort, tore her gaze from his.

"I've labeled everything with either L or S," she told him, fighting to keep her reply from being too breathless. "Why don't you place everything that is going to London by the kitchen wall, and the items to Scotland by the front door."

"As you wish." He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go. I can handle this."

"I am sorry, really. I didn't know she was coming over. It certainly wasn't my plan to have you haul my things about sans-magic."

"I did volunteer. Besides which, I can extract my revenge later, never fear. Now, go."

Deciding that she'd heed his advice, Hermione fled.

* * *

Snape listened to Hermione travel back down the stairs, and leaned against the vacated door jam, more than a trifle weak-kneed. He could still smell her, a pleasant mixture of verbena and spice that had the ability to linger in the air for hours after her departure. But it had been sight of her, whiskey-coloured eyes reflecting a combination of heat, humour and affection that had nearly been his undoing. And then she'd had enough wit to ask about the window... it had taken everything in him to not press her further into the door frame, wrap his hands amongst the wild abandon of her curls and kiss her until they were both senseless. That they were standing mere metres from her rumpled bed had not helped things...

A grumpy, flat-faced orange cat emerged from underneath her duvet. Shooting him a disgusted glare, the bandy-legged fur ball leapt from the bed and sauntered over to him. Delicately and deliberately, the cat stretched, laying one razor-tipped paw on the toe of his trainers. Eyeing him square on, the cat flexed his nails and yawned, displaying an equally ferocious set of teeth.

"What are you, her duenna or some such thing?" he muttered, and bent down low enough to stroke the creature's back. The cat gave a grudging, if loud purr. "I'm not an idiot, don't worry." _Well, _he thought to himself, _not that much of an idiot. Alas, this time it wasn't your own petard that you were __hoisted from..._

* * *

She was still breathless when she rejoined Aditi at the bookcase. The woman gave her a gimlet-eyed stare, and grinned. "I like your pirate."

"My what?" Hermione asked.

"Your pirate. That's what he reminds me of, what with that long hair, and smile. A rather wicked pirate..."

"Oh, god, Aditi. Don't say things like to me. I have to work with him. I don't need to be picturing him in a ruffled shirt and leather trousers..."

"Sounds like you just did."

"Dead. I am so dead," she groaned. Pressing her hands to her hot cheeks in a futile attempt to cool them, she contained. "It's not like that, truly. And he's definitely not mine, regardless of how this may look."

"So your 'colleague' came all the way from London on a Saturday morning to help you move, and you are telling me that there's nothing else going on?"

"Yes. That is exactly what I am saying." She gave her friend a pleading look. "Please, just drop it for now? Tell what's been going on in the department..."

* * *

It took Severus about twenty minutes to bring all of her boxes down; as he set the last one on the floor, she couldn't help but notice that his track pants did a rather nice job of displaying his surprisingly firm arse. _Yeah. I'm dead. Or mental... being attracted to him was not part of our contract or any plan, and even if it was... well, it's not exactly a smart idea given the personalities and histories involved. _

"Hermione, do want me to start clearing your desk?" Aditi asked.

"Hmm?" she responded, still woolgathering. "If you don't mind..."

"Are the mismatched drumsticks rubbish?"

"NO!" both she and Severus replied at the same time, whirling on the woman.

She held her hands up in confused surrender. "My apologies, don't take my head off." She examined the wooden rods critically. "What, are these you magic wands, or something?"

Severus responded drolly. "Yes, you've found us out. Despite my mild-mannered persona, I am in fact an all-powerful wizard, and Hermione is a witch."

"Don't forget famed double-agent and esteemed Potions Master. It's important part of the story." Hermione interjected over Aditi's laugh.

"That too."

"Right." Aditi said, picking the items up from the table top. "Which one is yours then, Wizard?"

"The ebony one. I believe that Hermione's is currently rowan, is it not?" Aditi tossed him the wand, and he pocketed it easily.

"Why, yes. Rowan, with a phoenix-feather core." She snatched it from her friend, and likewise put it away, wondering how far Severus would take the discussion.

Aditi was still chuckling as she asked the next question. "So if you are an all-power wizard, is Hermione any good as a witch?"

"They used to call her the most brilliant witch of her age when she was at school." His voice was teasing, yet the look he gave Hermione was anything but. "She's a little out of practice now, but with some time I am confident that she will surpass everyone's expectations."

"Oh, so you knew her when she was in school?" Aditi's tone was coquettish. "Do tell."

"I was her professor," he said fatuously. "How to describe Hermione Granger? Hmmm, bushy-haired, naturally. The biggest swot I have ever taught, not mention the most annoying..."

"You have the nerve to call me annoying?" Hermione let her voice rise in indignation. "What about you? Fighting the Dark Lord or no, you were a complete and utter bastard to us, Severus Snape!"

He laughed at her, and the resonant sound was just as wonderful as she'd imagined. "A bastard with good cause. You set me on fire, stole very expensive and controlled substances out of my stores, spied on me endlessly, gave me a concussion when I was only trying to prevent you from getting attacked by a werewolf... and that only covers the events of your first three years."

Severus turned back to Aditi. "Truly, you have no idea how difficult she made my life. There I was, working as a double-agent, trying to bring down the Darkest Wizard of the last two hundred years, she was turning in ten-page, fully annotated papers when all I asked for was two... and then there was her friends. Dear god, her willing choice of gormless companions..." He threw up his hands in supplication. "How I never resorted to murdering them, I'll never know."

"You, poor, tortured man." Aditi choked out, almost doubled over in mirth.

"When you twist it about that way, of course it makes him seem like the innocent party!" Hermione groused.

"I was the innocent party, Granger. It's a pity that after all of these years you still can't admit the truth." He was smirking for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

"You made fun of my teeth in front of the entire class. Who does that?"

For a moment, he looked properly chastened at the reminder. "I was having a bad day."

"You were being a bastard."

Severus rolled his eyes at her ready retort. "In that particular instance, yes, suppose I was being a bastard." He gave a gusty sigh. "My apologies. The comment was personal, spiteful and entirely uncalled for."

"Apology accepted," she said, trying to not lose the rest of her composure in the face of their continued farce. "We were just as bad, weren't we?"

"Yes." His emphatic response was enough to finally set her off, and she collapsed onto the bookcase in a gale of giggles. Every time she tried to regain her breath, she caught sight of Severus- likewise laughing on the sofa- or Aditi, and it caused her to lose it all over again.

Naturally, it was Severus that managed to recover his disposition first. He sent her a mock glare. "My sides now hurt, thank you very much."

"You started it. Not my fault if you haven't laughed that hard recently." She wiped tears from her face, and accepted Aditi's hand to help her straighten up.

"Try never laughed that much, that might be a closer approximation," he muttered in an undertone.

"You two are so full of shite." Aditi said, shaking her head. "I wish that I could hear the real story, and not just you taking the piss out of me."

Looking at her friend, Hermione felt herself smirk. "You wouldn't believe the truth if you heard it, Aditi. Trust me on this."

She heard Severus start to chuckle again, and she swung her gaze back to him. He threw his hands up in despair. "Pax, Granger. Take pity on an old man; I don't think I'd make through another round of that."

Her retort was cut off by the sound of her mobile ringing. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew it and looked at the number. "It's George," she said, suddenly breathless for a very different reason.

His gaze was reassuring when he answered her. "If there was problem, they would have called me." Her ringtone started again. "Answer it, Hermione. It'll be fine."

Flipping open the phone, she spoke. "George?"

"Hermione?" His voice was interrupted by a burst of static.

"Hold on a minute," she said. "Let me go outside so I can hear you..."

* * *

Snape watched Hermione rush for the front door, and idly rubbed the stitch in his side. He looked back to the woman at the window, who was eyeing him consideringly rather than keeping tabs on her friend.

"A mutual... acquaintance of ours went into labour this morning. It was a difficult pregnancy," he said simply.

"Oh." The woman's hand went briefly to her stomach, and he recalled that she was pregnant. "She isn't really moving to Aberdeen, is she?"

"No, she is not." Her gaze had returned to his, and she regarded him steadily. "She is moving to Scotland, that much I can say, but not Aberdeen."

"Will she just... disappear?" Dr. Kapoor's voice wavered on the last word.

"No, she won't. It's not like that." Snape rose from the sofa, and plucked a piece of paper from the desk. Rummaging for a pen, he wrote his number on it, and handed to the woman. "Here. If you should have any questions, or concerns, ring me."

She took it. "Thank you." Swallowing, she went on. "Will she be in danger again?"

He rubbed his head, wondering just how much Hermione had told her. "Not like before, no. But life is full of risks, and I can guarantee that coming back for her is going to be... difficult, at least at first."

"She still has nightmares, even after so many years," she said in a whisper.

"I know." He sighed. "I can't promise anything other than this; I will take care of her, and will do everything in my power to prevent her from coming to any future harm."

A sound from the door had them both shifting; Hermione stood in the bright sunshine of the foyer, smiling broadly. "She's fine. It's a boy."

"Dare I inquire about what unfortunate moniker they saddled the child with?" Severus asked.

She paused. "James Sirius. Hopefully he will only live up to one part of that legacy."

"He'd better, as that leaves him with a fifty-fifty chance of being utter prat and dying young," he said acidly. Both Hermione and Dr. Kapoor blinked in surprise at his bitterness, and he took a breath in to calm his explosive burst of temper. "That was rather harsh, wasn't it?"

"Just a tad." Hermione's answer was placid.

"Then I'd better retract that statement, as we've already established that I'm not a bastard, and we are discussing a baby."

"That's not a bad notion." Her eyes were calm on his, and he saw a familiar flicker of humour return to her expression. "But then you knew those particular namesakes, not I. Given what I do know, prat is the least of the adjectives that you might apply to their memories. I don't blame you for still being angry."

"You may not, but it's long past the time when I should still concern myself with such things. James has been dead for longer than he was alive, and Sirius did not live to see his godson grow up. Given those facts, I clearly came out the victor."

"If you count something that pyrrhic as a victory, perhaps."

"I do," he stated flatly.

She appeared to want to say more, but instead shook her head with mild exasperation and looked to her friend. "Aditi, would you be terribly offended if I called it a day? I'd like to go to London tonight and visit with some people."

"Of course not." The other woman walked over to to Hermione and gave a quick hug. "Ring me when you need more help. And don't forget that you promised to join us for supper on Tuesday."

"Thanks, and I won't." Hermione gave her a squeeze back.

Dr. Kapoor turned back and gave him a warm smile. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance further, Mr. Snape."

"Likewise, Dr. Kapoor." With a flip of her _dupatta, _she left, shutting the door behind her gently.

He watched Hermione for a moment, seeing the clear excitement and uncertainty on her face, and wondered if she'd healed the breach between her and Ginerva Potter. "Come on; we should be able to move all this in less than an hour. We can get you there in good time."

* * *

_**Author's Postscript: **__Big hugs__ for all you lovely, lovely readers that took the time to leave me comments on Friday's chapter. I'm so thrilled that ya'll enjoyed it as much as I did! And never fear, we will be getting to the bottom of what happened in their binding over the next several weeks. Also, I forgot to mention that the description of the Nave is based off the real-life Bath Abbey; should I ever have more money than sense, I shall build one my own. Google pictures of the ceiling, it's really a work of art._

_Friday's chapter title, "Shelter" comes from the wonderful Ray Lamontagne song of the same name, and today's (duh) is in reference to the aforementioned Rolling Stones Song. _

_As you may remember, viola1701e wrote the 100th review, and was accordingly awarded a prize. She chose to read several chapters early, and the little Hufflepuff jibe in this chapter is a twist on her comments about the binding ceremony. We are only 14 reviews away from number 150, so keep going ;)_


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